


Flush

by p0rk



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alien Culture, Bad Humor, Developing Relationship, Drugs, Horror, Hospitalization, Infertility, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Surgery, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 84,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p0rk/pseuds/p0rk
Summary: AU. Two weeks after getting out of the psych ward, Dib flushes his medication. When Zim shows up at his kollege, he vows revenge. His botched attempt leads to the beginning of a sexual relationship with the invader.Caught between the pursuit of paranormal research and xenophilia, Dib struggles to navigate his new life—all while coming off of heavy drugs. As he grows closer to Zim, he discovers the secrets of Zim’s past.Dark, graphic. Characters are aged up. Please see notes in each chapter for additional tags and warnings. Tags may change with new updates.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [N0S0CKS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N0S0CKS/gifts), [BEENZ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BEENZ/gifts).

> **I'll be posting detailed summaries and warnings in the end notes of each chapter. Summaries may contain chapter spoilers and may mention/describe sensitive material. **
> 
> This work is dedicated to N0S0CKS. Thank you for your love, your support, and your patience.

Dib strolled down the dingy halls of the local kommunity kollege. This was the first day in a long time that he felt good about himself. It didn’t matter that he was now a full two semesters behind in skool, nor that he had to retake the class he’d been in on the day he’d had his “breakdown.” The month he’d spent in Sleepy Acres Behavioral Hospital finally felt distant as he entered the lecture hall. Everything was going to work out, _finally_, and there was nothing stopping him from living a normal life.

Part of the reason for his newfound bliss was that he’d flushed the last of his meds that morning, giving his reflection a bright smile and a proud nod. The haze was just beginning to lift that day as he swung the door open, stepping into his first class at the new skool.

He couldn’t even take in a commemorative breath of that fresh classroom air before his gaze fell to the table at the front of the lecture hall. There, wearing the eternal pink uniform and cheesy wig, with his gloved hands folded politely in front of him, sat Zim.

Their eyes met. Dib could see the smug expression brimming behind the familiar contact lenses. A wicked grin spread across the alien’s face.

“_You_!” Dib hissed aloud before he was aware of what he was doing. A side effect of coming off the drugs seemed to be a lack of personal restraint—or maybe it was a part of his personality all along. He struggled to remember the man he’d been before he’d gone into the hospital. Either way, he found himself lunging across the classroom, a finger waving accusingly at the small green figure.

“You!” he repeated. Zim coyly pointed at himself and shrugged, playing up the scene for the eyes falling on them from the back of the hall. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to show up here, of all places!”

“Hello, _Dib-worm_. You’re looking as delusional as ever.” Zim said calmly, a calculatedly rational tone in his voice. “Yes, it would seem that we’re academic peers yet again. Personally, I would’ve chosen a more collegiate university, but this is the only local institution that would accept my financial aid.”

“You’re getting financial aid?!” Dib spat, incredulous. “How is that even possible? You’re an _alien_!”

The word rang like an echo in the room. The soft conversation on the other side of the class ceased. The assortment of girls in the back glanced at Dib threateningly.

Eleven days out of the hospital and he was already back on his bullshit.

“Oh, Dib,” Zim chuckled fakely, his voice raising so that the other students were sure to hear him. “I thought we left that old joke behind in skool. Surely you would come to tolerate me now, even with my hideous skin condition.”

“You’re still using that stupid excuse, too?” Dib ignored the stares, too outraged by Zim’s annoying presence to care what the rest of them thought. Zim had ruined so many things for him, too many times, and he wasn’t about to stand by and let him ruin this, too. “I guess that _skin condition_ is why you’re still four feet tall, hmm?”

Zim glanced at the girls in the back, who were now paying full attention to the altercation. Meeting Dib’s eyes one last time, he mustered his most annoyingly vulnerable expression.

“No, Dib. My _skin condition_, despite its comorbidity with my _growth disorder_, is not the reason for my… _disability._”

“Oh, wow, you’re pretending to be disabled now, too?” Dib couldn’t stomach his outrage.

“You need to stop,” one of the girls in the back finally said. “Like, seriously, how intolerant can you be?”

“Yeah, leave him alone, you’re hella bigoted.” another one piped up. “This is supposed to be a safe space.”

Suddenly, the room was spinning. Dib’s knees wobbled as he tried to find a seat. This couldn’t be happening again. After everything he’d been through, his life was repeating itself—and it was definitely worse the second time around. Dib’s face was hot and his hands were clammy as they fumbled through his backpack to find a notebook.

A voice in the back of his mind told him he shouldn’t have stopped taking the meds, but every day away out of the vile hospital made him feel worse. Already he felt more alert without the cloud of drugs blinding his vision. He would not be defeated by what had happened to him. He still had a world to protect and he needed to have a clear head to do it.

It was Zim’s antics that landed him in there in the first place—maybe not directly, but it was the overwhelming burden of thwarting the invader’s many schemes that had driven Dib to stand on a table in his sociology class, screaming about aliens and their threat to the freedom of mankind.

Technically it had been his professors and his father that had committed him, but in the end he still blamed Zim. Every day that he’d been strapped to a rubber mattress, every pill that he’d been forced to swallow, he thought of Zim, and he vowed to get justice. And now, on top of it all, Zim was back in Dib’s field of vision, openly plotting the demise of the human race.

The day was a red hot blur. Dib bit his tongue each time that Zim participated in class. Although he looked worse than ever, the guy was getting better at passing. Dib clenched his fists under his table each time one of the girls in the back cooed and fawned over poor, innocent, disabled Zim. At the end of the day, he found Zim in the student union building surrounded by a group of the more social-justice-minded students.

Dib stormed up to the group just in time to hear them confirming plans.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” he tried to warn the students, two of whom were competing to be the first to get Zim’s number.

“It’s _him_ again,” one of them muttered to the other, both of them rolling their eyes.

“Listen to me! I know he’s good. Like, real good.” Dib glanced at the plasticine wig on the alien’s head and cringed to hear himself compliment any of it. “But I promise you, he’s just manipulating you! He. Is. An. Alien. Not just some ‘we come in peace’ alien, either! He’s manipulating you so he can do some kind of disgusting experiments on you later!”

Zim, who was currently plugging a phone number into one of the girls’ phones with a gloved claw-hand, offered a sympathetic glance before turning back to the glaring students at his flanks.

“Don’t worry, Meegin. I’ve known him since we were just little humanlings. He’s always been like this.” He met Dib’s eyes. “It’s a weakness. Don’t hate him, pity him.”

“I’ve been inside of his secret lair!” Dib tried, his voice cracking. “I’ve seen his spaceship!”

The girls softly started to laugh. The sound of his own voice was shocking to him. He was less than two weeks out of the hospital and he was ranting like it was that day in sociology all over again.

He was far removed now from the brainwashed pill-swallower he’d been twelve days ago. He could still hear that voice reciting the mantra he’d practiced to the doctors and nurses.

_“Aliens aren’t real. I know that. I made it all up. I have an overactive imagination and a fixation on a former classmate. I used to pretend this poor guy was an alien because, um… my dad, uh, isn’t present in my life. But I feel so much better now. Yup, better! Aliens aren’t real. Ha, ha ha…” _

The two girls from class still had their phones out, perhaps fixing to record him should his outburst escalate.

“Dib-human,” Zim broke the silence first. As tiny and hideous as ever, the alien looked up at him through the phony contacts. “I just want to say, I’m _really_ glad you’re back in class so soon. I heard about what happened to you earlier this year.”

Dib’s vision blurred with rage. How did he know? How did Zim know what he’d been through? It didn’t matter—it was just another tool to him, another means of humiliating Dib in front of his own peers.

“So help me, Zim, I will expose you and your plans once and for all.”

“We’re not in skool anymore. It’s time to move on from our old games.” The alien smirked again and boldly extended a gloved hand-claw. “Good luck with your recovery.”

Dib could’ve ripped that hand right out of its socket. He glared at the three-fingered glove and wondered how this crap could still fool any of them. But the girls from class were staring at him now, their expressions softening with sympathy.

“This isn’t over,” he warned, forcing himself to accept the handshake just to keep up appearances. Hands clasped each other with mutual assertiveness. He remembered that fateful day in the sociology class, and he wasn’t ready to live through it again. He _had_ to keep his shit together. How could he thwart Zim from inside a padded cell?

Dib hardly paid attention to his new professors throughout the rest of the day. He could barely recall picking up a syllabus on his way out the door of his last class, faintly remember meeting Gaz at the bus stop, and definitely blacked out most of the bus ride home.

“Keep your voice down,” Gaz said softly as he caught his breath between sentences. They were on the street now, walking the rest of the way home.

“Can you understand why I’m so pissed? He has the audacity to follow me to kommunity kollege after he put me in that _place_!” Dib could hardly focus long enough to form words. “And now he’s claiming that he’s _disabled_ and making ME look like a problematic jerk!”

“Maybe you should just move on,” Gaz said. She offered a threatening look as he tried to cut her off. “If you don’t want to get so upset that you put yourself in a psych ward again, maybe you’re better off just ignoring him.”

“But he’s trying to destroy the world!” He insisted, wondering how she could still fail to grasp the weight of the situation. “He’s studying us so he can subjugate us.”

“So? Obviously he hasn’t taken over the world yet.” She grew weary of the conversation and returned to her video game.

Dib’s outrage was not satisfied. Now he was just irritated that she could blow it off like it was nothing. None of his suffering meant anything to her.

“Hey, Gaz? How come when I was locked up, you know, like a _crazy person_, how come you never said anything to anyone in there?”

She growled. “What are you going on about now?” she said, her voice low and dark.

“_You_ know that Zim’s really an alien,” he said, trying hard to provoke her. “Why didn’t you back me up when I was in there? Maybe if you would’ve said something, those doctors would’ve listened to you, and then they would have taken me seriously.”

Gaz let out a long, grumbling, growling sigh. Then she continued playing her game.

“Talk to me!”

“You put yourself in there.” She repeated firmly. “You are the one who freaked out so hard that people thought there was something wrong with you. I was there, and I did say plenty of things in your defense. But you just wouldn’t stop freaking out. So, Dad and I talked about it, and we decided that you might be better off spending a little time in there.”

“I was _tormented_ in there!” his voice was getting louder now, so loud that someone on the sidewalk ahead of them coughed before crossing the street to walk on the other side. “And you conspired with Dad to keep me in there! Do you guys _want_ the world to belong to evil aliens? Hmm? Do you want to be Zim’s slave?”

At last she met his eyes, her gaze distant.

“What I _want_ is for my brother to be okay,” she said, tiredly. “That’s all I could think about when you were in the hospital freaking out. All I want is for us to have a normal, good life. Not that you’d ever let something like that happen.”

Dib’s rage simmered for the rest of the evening. A full 24 hours had passed since he’d swallowed his last pill. Already he had so much more clarity. The downfall was that his anger burgeoned out of control and he couldn’t figure out what to do about it. A month of being medicated to the point of drooling on himself had left him unpracticed at managing his emotions. He definitely hadn’t gotten _treatment_ in the hospital. He’d just gotten _pacified_.

The evening at home did nothing to soothe his nerves. He tried to distract himself by going over his syllabi, organizing his skool planner, all the things his father had instructed him to do as part of his ‘recovery.’ He would be furious if he knew that Dib had flushed his medication. The shame of his son being institutionalized sat heavily on him, especially for an unscientifically irrational paranoid break. It had been his idea for Dib to live at home and go back to skool. He would finish his education, ‘get his life in order,’ and the three of them would live happily ever after.

Realizing that trying to fulfill his father’s wishes was only worsening his mood, Dib gathered up his backpack, packing the last of his paranormal research equipment that had not been confiscated at the hospital. Then, he waited until Gaz retired to her room for the night. Pulling on his favorite jacket, he tiptoed out the back door.

His first stop was the grocery store. Tinny music rang through the practically abandoned space while few sleepy shoppers shuffled drone-like through the aisles around him. It looked like a scene from his hospital stay, but he tried not to let it bother him. The cashier waggled her eyebrows at him when he rang up a single carton of eggs with his food stamp card. It was a souvenir from Sleepy Acres, and he decided it would be the last purchase on it he’d ever make.

With his bounty tucked safely away in his new paranormal investigation bag, he waited eagerly at the bus stop, his heart racing with anticipation. Maybe it was the meds wearing off, but something about this moment was so thrilling. It was a long time since he’d carried off a “mission” like this, but it felt good to be back at it. If going back to skool didn’t help him feel like less of a crazy person, maybe this would.

The route to Zim’s lair was etched in his memory and he found his feet leading the way. The bus had been hot and smelly, and the cool night air was crisp, if not also smelly. The familiar city street had not changed much in the years; the poorly disguised ‘house’ changed even less. Although his hands were shaking, he couldn’t fight the triumphant grin spreading across his face from the childish mischief as he strolled up to the familiar stoop. He dashed away after ringing the doorbell, hiding in a shrubbery close enough to the door to launch his carton of eggs at the target.

But the door never opened and Zim never appeared. Dib waited, checked his phone several times. He didn’t dare return to the door to ring the bell again—it felt too much like a setup. Maybe Zim had improved his outdoor surveillance and he was watching Dib right now, laughing at his failed attempt at revenge.

Before he could ponder it any longer, a little car rolled down the street and stopped in front of the property. The groovy sounds of Toast Malone filled the quiet block as the passenger’s side door opened and a small green figure stepped out. Dib could just barely make out the silhouette of one of the girls from class, leaning out the door to wave to Zim before driving away into the night.

The sight struck a nerve in him. Not only did Zim show up in one of his classes and make a fool out of him yet again, he’d made friends on the very first day of the semester just to rub it all in Dib’s face.

He couldn’t spend any more time sulking about it. He leapt out of the bushes, letting loose a victorious war cry as he pried open the egg carton. He soon realized he should’ve planned this better as he struggled to quickly grab one of the eggs out of the little cardboard sleeve. In his haste he toppled the carton, dropping most of the eggs to the sidewalk where they sprayed onto his shoes. At last he got ahold of one after crushing two more with his fingers. He flung the egg without looking and it missed Zim entirely, whizzing over his head and exploding on the fence behind him.

The entire dozen wasted in less than a minute, Dib looked to Zim now, who folded his arms across his chest and smirked derisively.

“Are you finished?” he asked. “Or are you going to throw some of that loathsome salted pork at me now, too?”

“Bacon?” Dib guessed aloud before grimacing, frustrated that the alien could distract him even in the heat of the moment yet again. “Stop trying to confuse me!” he snapped a moment later. “Why are you going to that skool?”

“Why did you come to my house and try to assault me with chicken larvae?”

“I asked you first.”

“Fine.” Zim’s fists came to rest on his hips as he shifted from amused to impatient. “I’m attending the human kollege to further my research on the vulnerabilities of Earth society.”

Dib rolled his eyes. Zim paused, scowled, continued.

“Through only a day’s observation I’ve already learned that the social environment of higher education is better suited for infiltration.” At this, he gave in to a bout of maniacal laughter. “Humans that are willing to _pay_ for their social indoctrination are ripe for mind control!”

More cackling followed. Then he promptly stopped and pointed at Dib.

“I should ask you what _you’re_ doing at that skool. I’m surprised you left your well-defended corner on the fringes of society to come to a place as _woke_ as kommunity kollege.”

“_Woke_? Wow…” Dib couldn’t quite bounce back from that one. “I _hate_ Kollege AU Zim.”

“I’ve grown weary of these encounters between us, human. Let’s put an end to these insufferable games, shall we?” Zim snapped and barked an order. “GIR! Capture the intruder!”

Dib heard the robot/puppy before he felt it. Hard metal crashed into his side, knocking the wind out of him as he was wrestled to the ground.

“To the laboratory, GIR!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 1 summary:  
Dib flushes his medication and returns to kommunity kollege after being released from the mental hospital. Zim shows up on the first day of class and makes a fool of Dib again. Dib argues about it with Gaz, who’s still concerned about his mental health. Dib attempts a haphazard attack on Zim, failing miserably and getting captured.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 2 warnings: Coerced drug use. Dubious consent in the beginning of the chapter, direct consent later in the chapter. Really icky conversation. Good luck getting through these next two chapters. See end notes for detailed summary concerning this work's tags and content warnings.

Twenty-four hours ago, Dib had been on his way to a “normal” life. Now he found himself back in Zim’s lair, restrained in a darkened underground chamber, anticipating whatever torture the invader was sure to inflict on him. He’d showed up unprepared and now he would pay the price.

The small voice in the back of his mind wondered again if he shouldn’t have flushed those pills. Maybe life would be easier if he wasn’t such an impulsive fool, if he’d stayed in a medicated stupor rather than pursuing his dreams.

But this was what his life was all about. This was why he’d fought so hard to regain his freedom. It was his motivation when he took the medicine, when he’d lied to the psychiatrists. It was his fate to be here. _His destiny_. In some ways, he was responsible for the fate of the entire planet.

Somewhere between the adrenaline and the sudden burst of courageous egotism, and perhaps as another side effect of coming off the meds, he felt a familiar but unnerving shift in his gut. He cringed and tugged at the restraints he’d been put in, helpless against the inconvenient erection springing in his pants.

“Why now?” he whined aloud. He tried to think of something hideous to disgust himself and trick his body into relaxing, but it was already too late. On cue, little boot-clad footsteps approached from the darkness. Dib couldn’t imagine a worse time for an uninvited chub—he only wished he’d stopped taking the meds sooner.

Keen alien eyes didn’t waste any time spotting it.

“GIR! He has a weapon! How could you have missed this?” He barked at his robot. “Fool! Retrieve it immediately!”

The red-eyed robot appeared beside him, saluted, and lunged at the front of Dib’s pants, yanking furiously at his zipper.

“It’s not a weapon!” Dib cried out, pulling fruitlessly at the restraints. He’d definitely dreamt more than once of being in a similar situation—now that it was really happening, it was more of a nightmare.

“Ooh yeah! He gots hangy thingies!” the small robotic voice announced.

Pupil-less eyes widened as Zim’s laughter turned from maniacal to hysterical.

“Is that what I think it is?” the alien squeaked out between breaths. “I thought that was a sorry excuse for a _weapon_. But _this_ is truly pitiful.”

His humiliation couldn’t overshadow his fury.

“Oh yeah? And I’m sure yours is just spectacular—if you even have one.” He said cooly, too offended by Zim’s entire existence to let on to his fear, even as the alien stepped forward with an outreached hand.

He desperately tried to stifle a whimper as a gloved claw reached out to curiously touch him. “_Why are you doing this?”_ he breathed instead.

“Leave us, GIR!” Zim barked at the small, saluting robot. Then, he turned back to Dib, big pink eyes shining in amusement. “Are all males of your species so inadequately endowed?”

“I-I’d say I’m about average,” Dib said first, distracted. Then, recovering from the temporary setback, he bit his lip to keep from groaning at the continuing touch. “What are you going to do to me?”

Antennae raised curiously as Zim pondered his options.

“Eh? I hadn’t thought about that yet,” he admitted. “Maybe I’ll cut this off and save your species some trouble down the line. An Irken male with such stunted physiology would’ve been euthanized right out of the incubation chamber.”

Dib gritted his teeth. There was no fighting the truth that Zim’s hand-claw-thing felt _good_. How many years had he spent hating the invader, only to melt at one touch? Certainly he’d thought about this very situation—and he might’ve searched a few cryptid fetish websites for content containing green aliens—but in his fantasies he usually wasn’t shackled as a prisoner. How could he even be hard knowing that Zim might still kill him once this was over?

“Isn’t it usually different looking?” Zim’s voice broke the momentary silence.

“Uh…what?”

“Why has it become swollen like this? _Tell me now_.”

“I-I don’t know,” Dib struggled to answer as the gloved hand gave an exploratory squeeze.

“You don’t know the workings of your own body-shell?” Incredulous, Zim stopped the unnervingly pleasant stroking. “Pathetic.”

“I do, I do.” Dib stuttered, averting his gaze in shame as he realized that he wished Zim hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t understand why he wanted more—the thought disgusted him as much as it excited him. Another glance back at Zim’s face was enough to break him.

Light played off of the semi-translucent magenta eyes. He could make out a prismatic compound texture beneath the outermost layers of the organ, adding an arthropod depth that made something in Dib’s chest tighten.

“I think it’s like a really spongy soft tissue.” Dib tried to steady his thoughts and explain his vague understanding of human anatomy. He wound up reciting an embarrassing speech his father had given him at an early age. “When it gets—when a human gets excited. Aroused? When that happens, all that tissue fills up with blood. And gets all… solid.”

“Hm. So you would say that your genitals have become _engorged_?” Zim seemed unfazed by the personal intimacy of the conversation. Hearing him say a word like ‘engorged’ was enough to make Dib’s skin crawl.

“I guess you could say that…” Dib sighed, his face so hot it made his ears ring. All he knew was that if he was going to have this conversation, he could at least get that gloved hand back on him.

“What percentage of your body’s blood content is currently inside this organ?” Zim pressed onward. “If I were to, for instance, sever it right now— how quickly would you die?” Punctuating his point, he reached out and cradled Dib’s balls just as the brutal concept threatened to make him go flaccid.

“Please don’t,” Dib wheezed.

“Don’t touch you?” An antenna raised coyly.

“Don’t cut my chode off…”

“I see,” Zim said. “So you _want_ me to continue handling you?”

Dib couldn’t guess why this question was the most embarrassing one yet. He sank into himself, sagging against the restraints in defeat. He couldn’t return Zim’s gaze.

“Yes…”

“Hmm?”

“I said, yes! Yes I want you to keep touching me!” His voice raised, threatening to crack. He couldn’t stand the back-and-forth any longer. His time institutionalized had stripped a certain degree of self-preservation and dignity from him. Why not just accept fate? “I can’t believe you’d care about my permission in the first place. You’ll probably cut it off when you’re done with me anyway. So just get it over with!”

A solid moment’s silence passed between them. It lingered so long that Dib realized he could make out a faint electrical pulse thrumming all around them. He hadn’t experienced a quiet moment in Zim’s lab since he was practically a child. Somehow the sound lent a calming familiarity to the situation.

“I had no idea that sexual desire could bring out so much of your species’ primitive side,” Zim at last spoke softly. “It makes you simultaneously aggressive, yet weak-willed.” Now the fingers coiled tighter around him, perhaps having figured out a good angle. Zim gave him a languid stroke before speaking again. “Humans are easily manipulated with sex.”

Dib’s breath caught in his throat.

“Brilliant observation, Zim. Yes we are.” He couldn’t help but answer sardonically. He didn’t know what evil scheme Zim was hatching in that moment, but at this point he didn’t care. His past self would never believe that one day he’d be hoping his sworn enemy would sleep with him, but here he was, wishing Zim would stop dragging it out.

“You would do anything to fulfill your desire.” Zim spoke as if this were fact.

“_Almost_ anything.” Dib asserted.

“Would you kill for it?”

“I wouldn’t. Other people might.”

“Would you die for it?”

“Maybe if it was good enough.”

“Then I will see that it’s good enough.” A sharp smile cracked the unearthly face.

A moment later Dib dropped to the floor, restraints releasing him with a push of a button. He crawled to his feet, pulling his pants back on while he had the opportunity. Zim had already turned away, pacing in front of a screen a few feet across the room. Dib tried to make out some of the data Zim was pouring over, but the medication had turned his memory to utter crap. Desperately he tried to could recall the few Irken symbols he’d picked up over the years.

At least he could recognize an anatomical diagram. Zim seemed to be pondering an issue with his own biology, not Dib’s.

Dib hesitantly stepped closer. He felt a lot better now with his pants where they belonged, although his softening erection returned in full when he peered over Zim’s shoulder to find the alien hiking up the front of his uniform tunic and fondling himself.

“Don’t stare at me!” Zim hissed without looking up. Dib hadn’t realized he was close enough to be perceived.

“I’m not staring,” Dib lied, watching the gloved hand squeeze at the front of the uniform leggings.

“Yes you are.” Antennae twitched scoldingly.

“What are you even doing?” Dib asked as Zim sighed and gave up. He released the hem of his uniform and reached behind himself to fumble with his PAK instead.

Dib had never seen the device removed at the alien’s will—watching it happen felt like an oddly intimate privilege. If only for the purpose of paranormal investigation, Dib wished the situation was different and that he had time to study both the detached PAK and the place on Zim’s spine where it plugged into his body. He wished he could’ve asked questions, taken pictures.

Explored.

For a single, short moment, he wished he hadn’t made an enemy out of Zim. Maybe he’d have answers to more of his questions by now if they hadn’t spent years tormenting each other.

He couldn’t dwell on that thought. Hoping to provoke Zim and perhaps make himself feel a little less vulnerable, he reached forward and laid a hand on the connective base along Zim’s spine. Zim did not flinch, but he visibly stiffened.

“You don’t touch an Irken soldier in that place and survive to tell the tale.”

“Are you going to kill me now?” Dib assertively held his place, tracing fingertips around the raised metal lip.

At last it got a reaction out of the alien. He whirled around, snatching the offending hand by the wrist. Dib cringed against the surprising strength of the grip.

“Not now. Eventually, yes. When I’m _done_ with you.”

His hand was released. Zim casually slipped the PAK back into place. Dib watched the device secure itself tightly back into the metal ring embedded in Zim’s back. The alien immediately perked up, some change in the device making his shoulders rigid. He let out a stifled groan—not entirely painful but not quite comfortable, either.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve… programmed my body to produce more blood cells.” Zim said, his voice noticeably strained. “Hnng… bones… _burning_…”

“Sorry, why?” Dib couldn’t say why he was suddenly concerned—maybe it was the earlier discussion of sex keeping him from thinking straight. Zim was right about it making him weak-willed. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Maybe,” Zim offered. A shaky, crazed smile asserted itself on his face. “But if I succeed, it will be worth it. This is just the beginning.”

Before Dib could question what that meant, metal spindle legs extended from Zim’s back, lifting him and scurrying up a nearby wall, carrying him away.

Dib frantically looked to the ceiling, where Zim disappeared into the darkness of tangled tubes and wires.

“Zim?”

A soft scuttle of metallic feet overheard was the only reply.

Dib’s heart raced. This too was a familiar moment. It was not soothing like before. These were the times when Dib remembered why Zim was a genuine threat to life on Earth. He was unpredictable and he moved too quickly. He enjoyed the fear that he provoked. It was an unquestionable part of his true nature. Not to mention those spider legs were creepy and they made the tiny freak look properly menacing.

Dib glanced around the underground chamber. There was no visible exit. The walls were all curved and covered with screens and buttons. Maybe he could provoke Zim into returning and fighting. He approached one of the walls and slammed both fists against it, smashing buttons and making screens flicker.

“You shouldn’t do that!” a gleeful metallic voice sang behind him. Dib spun around to find the little sentry robot gyrating behind him.

“Why not?” Dib asked, stifling his terror at the uncanny machine as he continued to smash buttons.

“Because,” the robotic voice responded before shuffling across the floor.

“Because _why_?”

“Because because!” it cracked itself up while it scooted in circles.

“What are you doing?” Dib asked, the robot’s antics ridiculous enough to calm him for a moment.

“Keepin’ you busy so’s my Master can find the thingy.”

“What thingy?”

“_That_ thingy.” The robot ceased its spinning and pointed behind where Dib stood.

Dib froze then turned slowly to peer over his shoulder. There was Zim, towering over him with the added height of the legs. He held a canister and a domed attachment bound to it with a clear hose.

A face mask.

Dib hardly had time to flinch before the mask was clamped to his face. He couldn’t even scream as the canister hissed and filled his lungs with a bitter-tasting gas.

The last thing he heard was Zim’s sadistic laughter spreading through the corners of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 2 summary:  
Dib pops an ego boner. Zim restrains Dib and fondles him while interrogating him about human anatomy. Gross dialogue. Zim modifies his PAK and then creeps Dib out a little bit before forcefully drugging him. Fade to black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 3 warnings: Absolute smut. Vulgar, overly descriptive and brutal. Oral trauma. Good luck folks.

Dib could hear watery, echoing noises swimming around in his head. At first it felt like he was there again—in the hospital. The drugs made his soul too heavy to hold onto, and it slipped out of his ears like melted gelatin.

Foggy, he tried to sit up and focus his vision. He searched for the windowless, speckled walls of his room at Sleepy Acres. He clutched at his sides to feel the scratchy, yellow blankets. Nothing was there.

Nothing.

Only a bright light in his face, blocking out his vision. He was not in the state hospital. This was a different memory—the one he’d been conditioned in the hospital to suppress. But it was burned into his mind, too important to ever forget.

The room looked like the spaceship he’d been taken into as a little child.

It had been just like this place: stark, bright, and cold. His vision had been blurry and his head full of dust and clouds, feathers and leaves. He must’ve been drugged or hypnotized at the time, because he couldn’t remember the aliens’ faces or voices. But he could remember the hands.

Hands touching him, turning him over and over, measuring the length of his fingers and the circumference of his head. The vivid imagery in his mind’s eye caused a reaction in his already fearful body, and he began to tremble violently. A pathetic whimper creeped out of his throat.

“Aw, you’re not scared, are you?” a familiar, snide voice filled the room.

“Zim?” Dib’s voice was a faraway squeak. If Zim was here it meant that he was still in the present moment, in reality, not whisked away into a drug-induced memory.

“Yes, it is I! Gaze upon me in all my glory! _Gaze upon Zim_!”

Dib squinted, trying to attach a visual to the voice. His glasses were missing—at least he could distinguish a distinct pink and green blob in front of him.

“… can’t see you very well…” Dib said softly. He realized he was propped up, sitting with his back presumably against some kind of wall. His heavy head lolled about on his neck.

“_Focus_.” Zim’s voice was commanding yet gentle. Dib squinted harder. Whatever Zim had administered was worse than anything he’d had in the psych ward. The difference now was his persistence. He fought against the daze—his vision was watery, but he willed his eyes to be steady. The image came in clearer now.

Zim stood before him. The uniform tunic was lifted again and the black leggings were bunched around his knees. Gloved fists perched on narrow green hips.

Zim’s abdomen was segmented. It looked almost like the soft thorax belly of an insect. The organ, if it could be called a cock, protruded grotesquely from between two of the lower segments like a parasite wedged in the flesh. The thing was tapered from its pointed tip to its flared base, which was flanked with feathery, flower-like appendages.

Dib had to do a double take. It was easily a quarter of the length of Zim’s body.

“Shit,” Dib breathed. “There it is.”

Long before this day, he’d pondered what it would look like. Now he knew. The first solid, lucid thought that he could process about it was that he wished he still had his camera.

“Well, Dib-Human? Are you impressed? Humbled, even?” Zim took another step closer. “You should be. It took some time for my body to produce enough blood to become _engorged_ for you.”

Dib tried to listen, but something felt off as he gradually became more lucid. He unconsciously rubbed at his chest and groaned.

“Yes, yes. You _may_ experience some discomfort. I had to remove the disgusting contents of your stomach. You humans are chock full of acidic bile. So many different colors.”

"My stomach…?” Dib continued to fight the confused haze. His head just wanted to tip forward, his eyes wanted to close. He felt it happen and snapped back up, willing his eyes to stay wide open.

He couldn’t give in to the medicated haze, not when he had such important paranormal events to witness.

“You’re going to _fuck_ me with that, aren’t you?” he wheezed, clarity returning to him. “Oh, God.”

“Your deity is not present here, human.” Zim’s voice boomed above him. “_This_ is what you will worship. This!” At last he took himself in hand, stroking the widest part of it for Dib to see. Then, slightly softer, he asked, “This ‘fuck’ that you mention—that _is_ what you wanted, yes?”

It all came back to him. He remembered what those smooth black gloves felt like on his cock. He could hear his own voice asking for it, wishing Zim would touch him again. In the drugged haze, his prior erection was long forgotten and probably doomed to be lost for some time. Regardless, he’d come too far to turn back now.

For the sake of paranormal research, he told himself. He might never have an opportunity like this again.

“Yeah…” he sighed.

“Yeah _what_?” Zim prompted.

“Yeah, I want it.” Dib tried. “I want you to fuck me.”

“How bad?” Zim stroked himself harder now, grinning wickedly, clearly enjoying what he was putting the human through. “Tell me, filthy earth pig!”

Dib blinked at another wave of confusion. Did Zim have any idea how hard it was to hold a conversation under the influence of heavy sedatives?

“Please…?” Dib tried, doubting himself the second it passed his lips.

“You can do better than that.”

This was almost annoying. Dib willed himself to sit up straight, his simmering anger driving him. He took a long, heavy breath.

“Please Zim will you fuck me with your big creepy bug dick thing,” he tried again. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes! Beg, human!” He immediately gave in to another round of cackling. “Beg for the fuck!”

Dib studied the scene before him. And what a sight it was. Zim’s hand began at the wretched spear-like tip and ran a tight fist all the way down the length. It was clearly quite rigid. He couldn’t imagine something so sharp-looking fitting in his ass.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Zim seemed to have different plans.

“More!” he prompted, one of the gloved hands coming forward to caress Dib’s cheek and tip his head back.

“Please give it to me?” Dib continued. It was a new practice but he was determined to make it through this. He would not be bested by someone who needed to modify his body just to get a hard on. “Please, oh… _superior_ one?”

“That’s better. I guess.” Zim’s thumb brushed against his bottom lip and eased his mouth open. Two of three fingers pressed past his teeth, slipping over his tongue, investigating the barrier of his throat.

Dib tried to speak, his voice a mangled choke around the penetrating touch.

“You’ll really have to relax a little. For your own sake,” Zim said casually. Then, sounding exactly like a street urchin peddling crack rock, he smiled and asked, “Want some more sedatives?”

Dib shook his head anxiously. “_Anything but that_.” He wheezed when Zim removed his hand. “I don’t care what you do with your creepy space cock, but I don’t want any more drugs.” Spit already trickled down his chin and his eyes strained to focus.

“Oh well.” Zim shrugged. He brought the wetted fingers back to Dib’s jaw, holding his mouth wide open, steadying his face while his free hand returned to the rigid stinger-cock. He steadied the spoon-shaped tip and pushed it past Dib’s lips. It didn’t get far before he gagged and trembled.

“Aren’t you glad I cleaned all your _stuff_ out first?” Zim whispered, pushing onward even as Dib’s throat seized and he wretched in the most awful way. His guts lurched fruitlessly around the organ as it continued its way down his esophagus. The hand on his chin moved to his throat, holding him steady, guiding the thing on its path of doom. He could feel it in his chest, his mouth gaping, tongue hanging out lewdly to make way. Tears welled in his eyes as his stomach lurched.

“Impressive, I’ll admit it,” Zim’s voice was gravely and strained if not reverent. His vision watery and clouded, Dib searched the alien’s face. Magenta circles were visibly strained. “Did you ever think you could make it this far?”

It almost sounded like praise.

Dib could feel his own saliva soaking the front of his shirt. Something soft tickled his face and he realized it was the flared appendages at the base of Zim’s cock. His body had stopped its spasms at least, succumbing to the penetrating swell. He couldn’t make a sound besides a stupid little snort-cough through his nose.

“Good human.” A wet pat on Dib’s cheek made another round of hot tears blur his vision. The hard cock earned another wretch out of him as Zim pulled back slowly, withdrawing just to push forward again, testing Dib’s limits before tentatively trying to fuck the man’s throat.

Dib wondered if the bliss he felt was a consequence of flushing the meds. His body trembled from the adrenaline, the overstimulating sensations. Those long weeks spent sleeping off the meds and searching for patterns in the speckles on the walls—he’d endured it all, only to turn around and do something insane like this.

He could still hear his own voice promising the doctors that he really didn’t believe in aliens, that he was just a paranoid delusional loser who’d spent too much time on the internet—and he finally felt validated. Those fools only wished they could experience a true paranormal event like this.

Zim groaned like he knew he was part of Dib’s vindicating pondering. Dib offered a compassionate snort, unsure why he cared about how the alien was doing.

“…could’ve lived a lifetime without knowing something like this…” the worm-like tongue flicked past sharp teeth. A wily, desperate expression had settled on Zim’s face. He seemed lost for what to do beyond standing there, clinging onto Dib’s face. It occurred to him that it was a mutually new experience. It was pretty likely that Zim had been a virgin—a _space_ virgin, which is worse than being a normal virgin.

The menacing façade was slipping as quickly as Dib’s had. The antennae quivered. Words gave way to awful sounds. Zim chirruped like a big provoked beetle. Dib couldn’t say why it was so fulfilling to watch his sworn enemy get off—maybe it was the satisfaction of watching him lose his composure—but it was hotter than he’d ever imagined.

The noises were eerie and entirely unearthly, a wooden-sounding rattle coming from the alien’s chest. He pressed Dib’s head against whatever wall he was propped against, pinning him down while he gave an unsteady thrust. Dib’s throat felt like it was being ripped apart. It seemed to go on forever, like Zim was struggling to reach completion for the first time in his whole miserable life.

At last, just as Dib’s eyes rolled back into his head from the lack of air, the alien’s back straightened. Liquid filled Dib’s chest. He trembled violently as it bubbled through his sinuses, pouring out of his nose and the corners of his eyes.

Within moments Zim had withdrawn and Dib found himself huddled on the floor, clutching his chest, his body screaming for air that it could not receive. He convulsed, his limbs going rigid as a burning pink foam frothed from – he hoped not—his lungs.

Now gloved hands were on him again, holding his head steady as his body seized. Genuine concern filled the magenta eyes looming over him. Dib knew that Zim would never admit it even if it were the truth. If he lived through this, Dib vowed to himself that he would never forget that helpless look.

A moment later Zim was above him again with the canister and the face mask. He tried to cry out in protest but his voice was long gone. The mask eased over his face, and somewhere between the drugs and the need for oxygen, he slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 3 summary:  
Dib wakes up from being drugged. Disoriented, for a moment he thinks he’s on an alien spaceship he was taken onto as a child. Soon he realizes he’s still with Zim. Zim has his big creepy space dong out; he insists on hearing Dib beg to be fucked. Zim fucks Dib’s throat until he can't breathe. Dib blacks out at the end of the chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 4 warnings:  
IT’S NOT actually a thing in this story, but mpreg/oviposition gets mentioned heavily in this chapter. It’s the joke, basically. A lot of gross visuals and jokes in this one. <-please let me know if this is something I should tag

The next thing Dib could remember was staring out the window of a moving vehicle.

Slowly the common sounds and motions brought him back to reality. It was early morning and he was sitting on a crosstown bus. The coach shook and settled at a familiar stop. Sleepy, slow-moving people shuffled on and off, too enrapt in their own lives to notice the wasted man sagging in his sticky seat.

His throat was ragged like he’d been screaming. He rubbed at the tender area, which felt more bruised than raspy.

“You should only ingest liquid food for a while.” A familiar voice whispered beside him. He turned to face the source of it. Glassy contacts stared back at him blankly. Somehow the eyes were so much colder when they looked human.

“What?” Dib’s voice was scratchy and raw.

“Until your eating-tube-thingy heals. Don’t ingest any of the solid food. Just liquid food.”

Dib stared at Zim. When had they boarded a bus together? Memories trickled back to him. A distinct image sat on his mind of something large and horrifying entering his mouth.

He cringed at a pain when he tried to dryly swallow.

“That really happened, didn’t it?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Zim said, amused. “Congratulations.”

His stomach hurt, and it certainly wasn’t just from the thought of what they’d done.

“Do you know what historically made the Irken Empire so vastly successful in the art of invasion?” Zim spoke softly as newly boarding passengers shuffled past them looking for seats.

“No…?”

“Millennia ago, before the Control Brains successfully tailored our classes and refined our gene pool through selective breeding, all Irken males had the ability to spread DNA as I have recently learned to do.”

“…okay…?” Dib wondered why Zim was bothering to tell him this, but he was too exhausted to ask aloud.

“Our primitive population spread easily because our genome is so powerful that it can alter the DNA of any host body it enters.” Zim smiled and nodded at an old lady that looked at them curiously on her way off the bus. “Our young can incubate at nearly any body temperature. The smeets hatch inside their lucky host, and then they eat their way out. Pull the cord, please.”

“Huh?”

“This is my stop.”

“Oh.” Dib obediently reached up and pulled the cord in the bus’s window. The coach dinged softly.

“A member of your pathetic social circle has been trying to reach you.” Zim said, producing Dib’s phone from a pocket on his uniform.

Dib snatched his phone out of Zim’s grasp just as the bus slowly rolled into the next stop. Zim rose from his seat, becoming an inch shorter once we was standing. He turned and offered a sharp smile.

“Have fun with them.” He said.

“Who?”

“My _army_.” Zim said matter-of-factly. “Thank you for the enlightening experience, filthy human.”

For good measure, Zim stood at the bus stop and held eye contact through the window as the coach pulled away. There was something ugly hiding behind that weird smile.

Dib sat silently for a few minutes, lost in a drug-tinged fog, stupid and content to watch the pretty trees and people on the street go by.

More people shuffled onto the bus and Dib began to ponder what had happened. What was all this talk about incubation, hatching…?

Dib gasped in horror, ripped from his thoughts by a vibration at his waist. His phone screen lit up and rang from a call. His sudden realization fresh in his mind, his hands shook so hard he could barely answer the phone.

“Gaz!” he wheezed.

“_Where the hell are you_?” her furious voice pierced through the receiver like a fist to his jaw.

“I’m on the bus,” he said.

“_What_?”

“I’M ON THE BUS,” he repeated. “Listen, something happened!”

“_Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you_.”

“Gaz, listen!” Dib tried to keep his low. He clutched his belly—indeed it was quite firm to the touch. He could’ve cried. “Oh, no… he laid eggs in my stomach…”

“_What_?”

“HE LAID EGGS IN MY STOMACH!” Dib’s voice cracked. Saying it aloud made it real, which made it horrifying, which made him panic. Tears of terror welled in his eyes. Every person on the bus was staring at him now, their eyes accusing like they knew what his sister was asking him on the other line.

“_Do you have your meds with you? I can’t find them in the house.”_

“This is really happening, Gaz.” Panic shook him worse than the convulsions he’d had on Zim’s floor. “Is Dad home?”

“_No, and you’re lucky he’s not. If he knew you’d been out all night chasing Zim again, he’d probably take you back to the hospital.”_

“I need you to get his equipment fired up right now. Zim’s eggs are going to hatch inside of me and then they’re going to feast on my body. And they’re going to help him take over the world!” He explained as quickly as he could, ignoring the ongoing stares. “We have to get them out before that happens.”

“_Do you have your meds on you?”_ she repeated.

“Yeah,” he scoffed through the lie.

“_Did you take them?”_

“Of course I did.” A woman who’d been sitting in the seat ahead of him gave him one last glare before storming away to the front of the bus. “Won’t you even listen to me, Gaz? Please!” Dib pleaded, clutching his abdomen. “It really happened. I think I can feel them swimming around in there right now.”

The bus rolled to a stop and the driver locked the doors open, thundering down the aisle. He stopped at Dib’s seat and folded his arms.

“This is your stop,” He said flatly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t pull the cord,” Dib tried, although the looks on the other passengers’ faces told him it was already over.

“_What’s going on now?”_ Gaz’s voice hissed through his phone.

“You’re freaking people out, dude. See those rules over there?” The bus driver pointed at a crackled piece of plexiglass with graffiti obscuring a yellowed placard. “Rule Number Four: No freaking out the other riders. Get it? You’re freakin’ everyone out, you weirdo!”

“I just need to get home,” Dib begged. “I might have a miscarriage if I have to walk…”

Despite his plea to the driver, Dib found himself in the street several blocks from home. He started to run, his throat throbbing painfully as he gasped for air. His stomach genuinely hurt now as the latest round of sedatives wore off. Maybe the little ‘smeets’ were already chewing on his intestines. Gaz’s voice screamed for him through the speaker until he remembered to hang up the call. She was standing on the porch as he finally made it up the block, sobbing from the discomfort and the fear.

“Oh, no…” she said sadly as she saw him. “Are you even lucid right now? This is bad.”

“Did you get Dad’s equipment warmed up?”

“Uh, no. But I think I am going to call him.” She said. “I can’t believe you’ve been out all night doing this stuff again.”

“Call him!” he challenged. “He’ll believe me once and for all when he sees Zim’s evil alien hatchlings eating a hole in my chest.”

Gaz let out a long, low grumble. She seemed to relent a little. Softer now, more forgivingly, she spoke again.

“What did you _do_?”

“I-I went to Zim’s house…” he tried to explain as he pushed past her, tearing into his room to paw through his unpacked suitcases. He frantically searched for an old piece of equipment. “Uh, some stuff happened. You know, pretty normal for us. He was a total jerk the whole time. So, um, we had sex and he laid eggs in my stomach. And then we rode the bus together.”

“Whoa, really?” she asked, finally taking him seriously. “I thought you hated him. Was it… consensual?”

“Yes, and I do! …anyway, it was pretty amazing, really. I wish I’d had my camera.”

“I don’t want to know anything about it,” she said firmly.

“He has this long ovipositor dick. Like a grasshopper or something. It looked like a really big celery stick.”

“I _just_ said I don’t want to know!” Gaz groaned, a palm on her forehead.

At last Dib found it—his old set of x-ray goggles. They still worked after all these years. Once they flickered on, he thrust them into his sibling’s grasp.

“See for yourself!” he barked. “Look at the alien babies in my stomach and _believe_!”

Gaz uncertainly put on the goggles and studied his stomach for a few moments.

“…ten, eleven, twelve. And they’re all intact. That’s actually pretty incredible.”

“The eggs?!” Dib nearly started to weep.

“Yup. Twelve fully intact chicken eggs.”

“What?”

“And a carton. An entire intact carton. Of eggs, which are also intact.”

He made her flinch when he ripped the goggles off of her head and put them on himself, bending forward to peer at his own guts.

Nestled in the center of his otherwise empty stomach he found a full carton of chicken eggs, the very same brand and size that Dib had dropped on the sidewalk at Zim’s house the night before.

A little Irken symbol had been drawn on the top of the box with a marker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 4 summary:  
Dib wakes up the next morning on a bus with Zim. Zim tells him some creepy stuff about Irkens laying eggs in people, basically implies that Dib’s an incubator now. Dib freaks out and screams about it on the bus until he gets kicked off. He runs home and Gaz thinks he’s been out all night being delusional, but she believes him when he tells her about hooking up with Zim. They use Dib’s x-ray goggle thingies (like the ones in “Dark Harvest”—you’ll notice other references to this episode in the story) and discover that Zim put a carton of chicken eggs in Dib’s stomach. Apparently that’s the punchline?? Next chapter will be better, I promise


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n:  
As usual, detailed summary in the endnotes. This chapter is pretty mild…

After a humble day spent lying in bed and cowering under Gaz’s most bone-chilling glares, Dib triumphantly returned to skool. Despite his throat feeling like he’d swallowed a handful of razor blades, he felt better than ever. Three days had gone by since he’d flushed his meds, and his head finally felt clear again.

For the first time in a month he was not startled by his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He could’ve sworn the dark circles under his eyes were getting brighter. Certainly the tingling in his fingers and toes had stopped. The sudden, uncontrollable muscle spasms were gone entirely. It was the most relieving part of the withdrawal process.

The movement of time still felt skewed, though. It had only been three days since he’d flushed the meds, but it felt more like three months.

With a renewed energy, Dib strolled down the dilapidated kollege halls once again. He arrived at the same time as another particular student, who shot daggers at him the second they made eye contact.

Up close, Dib could see that Zim was especially sallow and wimpy-looking, so he held his head up high and made sure the alien could see that he was thriving.

To Zim’s credit, he also made a valiant effort to seem okay, although Dib noticed him shivering slightly in his seat. Irritated by the hateful look the alien had given him after what had happened between them, Dib started to scheme.

He feigned interest in the lecture while he worked on his laptop and prodded at the classroom’s Wi-Fi. When he’d found the correct connected device, he tried to keep from snickering aloud as he paired with it and searched for a high-resolution photograph of an alien autopsy. He settled on a favorite screencap and airdropped it as soon as it was ready.

Across the room, Zim’s phone screen lit up. Dib held his breath and watched the alien inspect the file. He could’ve cheered when the phone was slammed back into its place on the table.

The composure that Zim had manifested for the first day of classes soon dissolved. The alien rose from his seat in the middle of the professor’s sentence. Contact-obscured eyes scanned the room before landing on Dib, who was struggling not to crack up.

“Filthy Earth pigs!” the piercing voice echoed in the lecture hall. “Laugh while you still have the privilege. Soon you will bow to me! _I will enslave you all!”_

The professor cleared his throat during the following silence. Had he finally won a battle, Dib wondered?

“That’s like so true though,” one of the girls in the back was the first to speak. “Zim’s so right. Like, we all just enslave each other with social expectations like gender roles and cultural stereotypes. Humanity enslaves ourselves with judgement. Like, we should all check our privilege, you know?”

Murmurs of agreement floated throughout the room.

“Thank you for your thoughtful contribution to the lesson, Zim,” the professor nodded.

If the alien was amused by their praise, it wasn’t obvious. Glassy eyes locked on Dib. The piercing stare lingered on him for the rest of the class, burning a hole in the side of Dib’s head. He pretended to ignore it, taking notes for the duration of the lecture. He’d never worked so hard at skool in his whole life.

The class ended and he was called upon to stay behind and discuss the assignment he’d missed on his absent day. To his surprise, Zim was asked to stay too, and soon they were the only two stragglers, lingering near the professor’s podium.

As the professor fumbled through a stack of papers, Zim stepped closer to Dib and wrung his hands before pulling out his phone.

“Thanks for the picture.” Zim flashed the screen at him, which still bore the screenshot of the gruesome autopsy. A grey-skinned alien frowned at the camera while a grinning scientist held aloft a handful of its intestines.

“He kinda looks like you,” Dib scoffed.

“How’s your digestive tube holding up?” Zim prompted, trying to seem aloof while he changed the subject.

“Fantastic.” Dib continued to bluff even as he struggled to take a breath. He studied the alien’s pale, tired face. “You missed class yesterday too. What happened to you?”

“What happened to _you_?”

“You know what happened to me.” Dib nodded at the professor, trying not to make waves with a loud discussion about their sexual encounter.

“Yes, I do,” Zim said with some thought. “Your voice is particularly hideous today.” He shifted and several of his joints audibly crackled.

“Seriously, what happened?” Dib pried, cringing at the sound.

“It’s nothing.” At last the professor handed them each a wrinkled piece of paper. Zim tucked his copy into a slot that opened on his PAK before stalking out of the class.

“Tell me!” Dib insisted, following him down the hall, sprinting ahead of him to stand in his way. He blocked Zim’s path, making the other passing students step out of the way to go around.

Zim studied him, clearly thinking hard before sighing and giving in.

“After I adjusted my PAK, my body never stopped producing more blood cells.” Zim shivered. “By the time I got it to stop, it was too late. My arteries were destroyed from the increased pressure. I was swollen and filled with rancid, decaying blood. I spent all day yesterday trying to drain myself like a blister.”

“Sounds disgusting,” Dib gleefully answered, trying to hide his horror imagining what Zim described.

“I must unfortunately agree with you this time,” Zim said. “Engorged genitals was a bad idea. I’m _never_ doing that again.”

Dib couldn’t say why hearing the sudden announcement almost made him sad.

“You didn’t seem like someone who’d give up that easily.” He jested instead of admitting to himself that he was disappointed.

“Your opinion means nothing to me, obviously.” Zim clenched a fist in front of him. “And what about you, Dib-pig? Why are _you_ so much more hideous than usual? Did something _extremely_ painful happen to you?”

Dib wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Nope, just ate something bad,” he smirked. “Don’t worry, it’s gone already. I already shit out your whole army.”

Zim grumbled.

“Disgusting humans and your digestive tracts filled with corrosive acid—sickening.”

“Jealous?”

“As if.” Zim turned away just as the girls from class walked up to them.

“Is this guy harassing you again, Zim?” one of them asked.

“Not at all,” Zim said, glaring over his shoulder. “In fact, The Dib here was just apologizing for policing my disability the other day.”

“Really?” The girl backed down. She nodded at Dib gently.

“Yes, yes. He can’t help himself, but I think he truly wants to get better.”

“Hey, fam.” The girl pushed past Zim to square up to Dib. “Recovery’s not easy, but you got this, ‘kay?” before he could stop her, she pulled him into a squishy hug. “We’re all cheering for you, you sad, mentally ill freak!”

Dib tried to bounce back, but the hug must’ve loosened the last of the eggshell fragments in his liver or something. A sharp pain in his side urged him to seek out the bathrooms on the edge of campus.

By the time he got there, his heart was racing from an awkward form of physical anxiety, perhaps related to an impending bowel movement. He was already late for his next class so he made his way into the stall and laid against the door, pressing his face on the cool metal until he could calm down enough to drop trou and take a seat.

He’d been through this several times in the last couple of days—the anxiety must’ve been part of sweating out the last of the meds. He tried to practice mindful breathing as he’d been coached by one of the therapists at the hospital, but he’d been too heavily medicated at the time and couldn’t remember what to do now. So he just closed his eyes and took a whimpering breath, the smell of the aging urinal cakes the only thing he could recognize and focus on.

When he’d been in there for several minutes, the door to the bathroom opened and then swung shut. A moment later Dib realized that he never heard the follow-up of footsteps leading to a urinal. He held his breath. Something was wrong.

A muffled scrape of metallic feet along the floor made him freeze. The shuffle continued, getting louder as it approached

“Zim?” his voice was a whimper.

Closer it came, closer. Methodical metal footsteps taunted him with each step. Dib lost his grasp on reality for the first time in two days, his anxiety carrying him away into a panicked flashback.

There had been a night at Sleepy Acres when Dib couldn’t rest. It was a common enough experience, but something about that night was different. He’d laid there, trying to keep his eyes clamped shut. And then he’d heard it—metallic scratching along the corners of the ceiling. He’d never found out for sure if it was just a delusion. All he knew was that he could hear the spider legs pacing back and forth above his bed, taunting him.

Even when he’d covered his head with his pillow and screamed to block out the noise, he could hear it. And when the nurses came into his room and threw on the lights, there was nothing. The sound was gone, the ceiling was empty. He’d been given an extra dose of sedatives and strapped to the bed for the night, and the nurses left him again to lay alone in the darkness. The scraping metal footsteps returned as soon as they were gone. All Dib could do was lay there and plan his revenge.

Now, locked in the stall at skool, Dib gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

“Zim, if you try to corner me in this bathroom, I will kill you with my bare hands and piss all over your corpse.” He warned through the door.

“Who’s Zim?” an unfamiliar voice replied. Dib at last peeked under the door at the floor on the other side. Soft-soled shoes and mobility devices lingered by the stall. “You almost done in there, dude?”

Dib’s hands trembled from shame as much as terror. He burst out of the stall. Indeed, the other student was rocking like he was eager to get off his crutches and onto the toilet.

“Sorry for being in there!” Dib tried. Getting an unamused look, he dug his hole deeper. “I mean, I’m disabled too. Technically.” he grimaced and dashed out of the bathroom. “I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen…”

That evening at home, he lost several hours on his computer, pouring over a series of drop-down fields answering questions about how often he wanted to waste time on the clock and steal from his employer. The sun had gone down by the time Gaz manifested in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to be nice.

“Filling out job applications.” He mumbled as he tried to decide on a scale of 1 to 5 how long an employee should be flogged for taking an extra break.

“Really?” she couldn’t hide her surprise. “Where to?”

“I’m doing MacMeatie’s now. I just finished the one for Bloaty’s.”

“That’s… kinda cool,” she said slowly. “I guess I shouldn’t tear you away from this, but it is Friday.”

“So?”

“So… Mysterious Mysteries will be on soon. Why don’t you take a break?”

He turned to look at his application once more. It had been easier at the hospital getting through the tests to determine his personality disorders, than it was answering questions to become a fry cook.

“It has to be a rerun,” he argued as he followed his little sister into the living room.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “It’s the Nessie vs. Bigfoot episode.”

“That’s one of my favorites,” he smiled as he plunked himself onto the couch.

“Want me to make some food?” she called from the kitchen. “Want an omelette?”

“That’s not funny.”

“You survived, didn’t you?” she said, throwing him a bag of chips and a can of Super Poop.

“Maybe, but I’ll never eat eggs again.” Just the thought of the sulfuric breakfast food made him shiver and gag.

Gaz sat closer to him than usual, her Game Slave turned off and tucked between the couch cushions. The theme song from his favorite show played, and the world felt like a decent place for a solid 45 seconds.

Then, a commercial came on. Familiar gray lighting and sad piano music opened to a prescription drug ad.

A trembling woman stared helplessly into the camera.

“My depression doesn’t just hurt me, it hurts everyone around me,” she clutched the sides of her head and rocked back and forth while screaming. “Aieee! I’m such a bummed out, bad person!”

Two little kids entered the frame, cowering and holding each other.

“Oh no, Mommy’s thinkin’ ‘bout stuff again,” one of them said.

“I wish Mommy would stop thinkin’ so much,” the other wailed. "It scares me!"

The camera cut away to a white-coated professional who Dib decided resembled his father.

“Viewer, are you tormented by your own existence? Does the sound of your voice haunt you like a wailing specter in the night? Do you eat food and drink beverages? If so, you should talk to your primary care provider about Suppressa.”

The camera returned to the wailing woman from the opening scene. The gray filter had been replaced with a warm yellow one, and now the woman was smiling placidly while driving a forklift.

“Suppressa is an innovative, gently rebranded anti-psychotic specially formulated for your active lifestyle,” a soft voice narrated while the commercial showed various people wearing the same dead-eyed smile while performing activities. “Get some peace and go back to being productive. Sleep a lot. Turn off your terrible personality. _Suppressa_.”

“Thanks, Suppressa!” the woman drove the forklift onto the backs of two jet skis. A downpour of dollar bills rained over her while the narrator’s voice rapidly recited a list of disfiguring side effects.

The commercial struck a chord in him. Dib wasn’t quite paranoid enough anymore to believe that the commercial existed just to mock him, but he decided to address his anxiety before it consumed him.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he squeaked to Gaz when the show finally came back on.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Zim, does it?”

“So what if it does?” he asked, defensively.

“I don’t want to know anything else about ovipositors and hatching and _stuff_,” she looked at him almost pleadingly.

“It’s not that.” He let a moment’s silence pass between them before pushing onward. “I flushed my meds down the toilet.”

He had her full attention now. A hand unconsciously pulled her phone from her pocket and fingered the call button.

“They made me feel so _sick_, Gaz,” he wished she could understand how much he meant it. Not a word was exaggerated. “I feel like I’m not the same person anymore. Those pills destroyed who I am.”

“I don’t think you’re a different person.” Gaz insisted. “You were a little dopey when you first came out, yeah. But they gave you those meds for a reason.”

“And they did their job and now I don’t need them anymore.” He sat up straight and proud. “Would somebody who needs drugs be going back to skool? Hmm? Would they be applying for jobs?”

The burden of the secret sat heavily on her.

“Did you just do this today?”

“Three days ago.” After a moment’s consideration, he added, “Please don’t tell Dad. I’m fine.”

She shook her head. “I know you’re _fine_, but…”

“Promise you won’t tell him?”

“I’m not promising anything.” She fished out her Game Slave from the couch cushions. “If you lose your shit again, he’ll find out anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” he tried.

“Just watch your show.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 5 summary:  
Dib recovers from his encounter with Zim. He returns to skool and notices that Zim also looks ill. Dib airdrops a photo from an alien autopsy to Zim during class. After class Zim admits to Dib that attempting to have an erection made him incredibly sick.  
Later, Dib has an anxiety attack in a bathroom. He has flashbacks to a night in the psych ward. He encounters a handicapped student in the bathroom and embarrasses himself.  
Later later, Dib applies for fast food jobs and confesses to Gaz that he’s off his meds.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 6 notes:  
Here is where that “Torque Smackey” tag comes into play. I realized this is a pretty slow-moving fic... But there is more smut coming soon! Thanks for being patient!

The weekend crosstown bus was crowded that morning. Dib clambered to hold on to the greasy bar, gritting his teeth and trying not to black out the time. This was too important to dissociate and forget.

The bus stop at MacMeatie’s was sprayed with fresh vomit. He stepped delicately over the chunks, trying to keep his only pair of nice boots clean. The aroma of fresh napkin-burgers greeted him at the door. He forced himself to keep from covering his face as he walked up to the counter.

The clerk began reciting the impossibly long name of their latest promotional item, tipping his hat back as he spoke, scattering dandruff like snowflakes onto the counter below him.

Dib squinted. He _knew_ those flakes. At once he spotted his proverbial foot in the door.

“Torque? Torque Smacky?” the clerk’s eyes widened and he stiffened defensively. “It’s me, Dib. From Miss Bitters’ class in skool? Remember?”

“Ohh, yeah,” the clerk relaxed, smiled and nodded. “Crazy UFO Kid.”

“Right, yeah… they called me Crazy UFO Kid…” Dib powered through it with a smile.

They’d called him Crazy UFO Guy when he’d had his breakdown. He remembered them chanting it while they circled him with their phones, filming him.

“So… do you wanna try the promotional item?”

“Actually, I was hoping to pick up an application.” Dib tried not to think about the memory he’d invoked.

“Oh…” Torque seemed overwhelmed by the unexpected interruption to the corporate script. “We don’t really do paper applications…?”

“Could I talk to a manager, then? I have a résumé…”

“Okay.” Torque said. He pondered for a moment. “Actually, I’m the manager.”

“Congratulations, man!” Dib prodded, surprised by how easily this was already going. “I’m so happy for you, really. And by the way, that’s some fantastic ink.”

Torque smiled and pointed to a skull-shaped scab under his eye.

“Thanks, this one’s new!”

Dib nodded attentively and listened to a half-hour-long anecdote about a hiking trip Torque had taken with some friends that summer.

“Wow, sounds amazing, very transformative,” Dib said when it concluded. He peered briefly over his shoulder at the 20 or so people that had lined up behind him. “Listen, man. Do you think it’s too busy to do a little interview or something?”

When Dib had at last manipulated his way into the back room, Torque studied the interview manual.

“Okay, it says: Why do you want to work at MacMeatie’s?”

Dib cringed. This was already a lot harder than he’d expected. He wracked his brain for a reasonable sounding answer.

“I want to work at MacMeatie’s because I have a passion for earning money to pay rent and buy food.” He paused, considered it. “I mean, actually, it’s always been my _dream_ to work at MacMeatie’s, ever since I was a little kid.”

“Aw, same!” Torque smiled. “Do you have enough fingers to hold a fryer basket?”

Dib wiggled jazz hands at him. “All ten originals.”

“…Man, it’s all coming back to me now. I remember you in Miss Bitters’ class. Always talking about alien abductions and UFO landings and government cover-ups. You were such a freaky kid.” Torque laughed and nodded.

“Oh, yeah, that was me alright,” Dib tried not to grimace at the memories of being a pariah. “_Freaky_ kid… no friends…”

“I always remembered you were like, the smartest kid in our class.” Torque said. “None of us even knew what half of that stuff meant. You must have read a lot of books.”

“Oh…” Now Dib didn’t know what to say. He had not expected anything along the lines of a compliment, even a back-handed one.

“Alright, man.” Torque got serious suddenly. “This is probably the hardest question in the packet…. What’s your shirt size?”

Dib listened, nodded. Grimly, he spoke. “Medium.”

Torque scooted in his rolling chair to a filing cabinet and pulled out a drawer filled with t-shirts.

“Good news! We still have a medium!” Torque held it aloft. Luckily, it only had a few grease stains on the front. “When do you wanna start?”

Dib rode the bus home that day with the t-shirt folded in his lap, a sweat-soaked hat stacked on top of it. The whole interview felt like something he’d dreamed about. It was far too easy and it felt unreal. For a moment he questioned his luck. Why should things go so smoothly for him?

At this point, the rapid changes in his life had exhausted him and he was cracking around the edges. The sexual encounter with Zim hadn’t helped much, either. His body felt like he’d run a marathon. At least his voice sounded decent for the interview.

The fourth morning off the meds left him too much mental clarity and it was making him nervous. Paranoid questions as to the validity of the interview crept into his mind. His luck was suspiciously good. He told himself it was just the way things worked sometimes and tried to see the reality of the situation.

It was a terrible job, but at least with a source of income he’d make some headway toward moving out of his childhood bedroom, _again_. Regardless, his mind started to cook up conspiracy theories as to why someone like Torque would want to hire him. Maybe the fry cooks needed a Crazy UFO Guy to laugh at.

He tried to think about the night with Zim instead of getting caught in the delusions.

He pressed his face against the cool window to soothe the flush spreading across his cheeks. His memories were jagged and frantic. Zim’s hands had been on him and his freaky alien cock had been inside him. He knew he should’ve been more horrified when he reflected on it, but the only thing he regretted was being so sedated. He just wished he could remember more of the finer details.

He wanted another opportunity to explore.

Gaz held her nose when he showed her his new work uniform.

“You’re moving way too fast.” She said. “Maybe you should focus on skool, and your new relationship, and like, _getting better_…”

“I am _better_, and it’s not a relationship,” Dib insisted. “Dad’s letting me live here for free, so I should be able to save up pretty fast. I’m just trying to move forward.”

“I guess it _is_ pretty cool that you just went out and got a job today,” she admitted.

“I’m going to try to get a car first,” Dib blathered to her as she returned to playing her video game. “I hate showing the bus driver that card from the hospital. I’m not a schizo loser like you and Dad seem to think.”

She punched him on the shoulder, hard.

“What was that for?!”

“If I thought you were a schizo loser, I would’ve called Dad by now. I haven’t told him you’re off your meds.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Think you can handle it?” she continued. “It won’t be long before everything you own smells like meat… _Meat Guy_…”

When he couldn’t take any more of her teasing he stole off to his room with his oily uniform, diving onto the bed and staying there for a few minutes, motionless but awake. Nothing felt as good as his own pillow on his own bed. His sheets were fresh too.

He wished he’d never come to so deeply appreciate a pillowcase that didn’t smell like institutional sweat and vomit.

Being sprawled on the old twin-size mattress made him feel like the awkward, sulking teenager that had once lived in this space. He rolled over and dragged one of his suitcases across the floor. He still hadn’t moved his stuff into the dresser—he couldn’t do anything that might indicate that this living situation was permanent.

Dib distracted himself by digging through the suitcase to find a binder full of his old photography. Some of the pictures hadn’t been handled in years. He flipped through them and paused when he came to an especially savory one.

It was the first photo he’d ever snapped of Zim without the wig and contacts. It was such a perfect shot, a mixed expression of shock and rage plastered all over the inhuman face. The camera’s flash had illuminated the compound texture in the big, hateful eyes. Dib laughed aloud at the alien’s ridiculous face, savoring the nostalgia of the pleasant memory.

Then, he rolled over with the picture in one hand, letting the other fall to the front of his pants where he’d been steadily pitching a tent.

What he _really_ wanted was another picture. He squeezed himself, thinking about sneaking back into the lair, camera loaded with a fresh roll of film, poised to catch Zim in a most compromising position. Alas, the old film camera was long gone, but his phone could do even better with hi def video.

He daydreamed about the perfect scenario. He would catch Zim in his lair, doing the same thing to himself that Dib was doing now. How sweet it would be to get a video of the gloved claw stroking the most photo-worthy space cock Dib had ever seen.

Dib finished himself off and melted back into the soft bed, the photo of Zim’s stupid face forgotten under his pillow. From this perspective, one might think his obsession with the alien had grown into an infatuation. As he drifted to sleep, he pondered the compassionate fretting he’d seen in Zim’s eyes the night the alien had fucked his throat.

Something in his dreams disturbed him. His eyes snapped open and he gasped for air. He couldn’t remember what the nightmare had been, but he felt like he’d been drowning. He sat up in his bed, panting. The light from his phone screen hurt his eyes and he squinted against it to read the time. It was 3:06 in the morning.

There was no falling asleep anytime soon, not the way his heart was racing. His body was trembling again, a visceral reaction to an irrational primal terror, the source of which he couldn’t even remember.

Perhaps it was just a general anxiety that would not cease until he sweated out the last of the meds.

He pulled on a clean set of clothes, contemplating the dirty outfit he’d found crumpled at the foot of his bed. The clothes he’d worn the night he’d swallowed Zim’s cock seemed special, the same way the ones he’d worn into the hospital seemed tainted.

It was the early hours of morning on his fifth day post-flush, and he was acting on an impulse yet again. Even so, he felt confident as he gathered his backpack and slipped out the back door for the second time that week.

By the time he got to the bus stop, he’d missed the last run by a few minutes. He shuffled through the streets instead, distracting his racing thoughts by toying with a device he’d been working on before he’d gone into the hospital. It was something along the lines of a ghost-hunting field scanner, but he’d tweaked it to detect the specific electromagnetic field that Zim’s PAK put off.

The long walk toward Zim’s side of town led him through several neighborhoods with stretches of unlit roads. There were blocks of apartment buildings with no porch lights, and dozens of convenient hiding places, especially if the person hiding was around four feet tall.

It was on such a stretch of road that the meter started beeping. A faint pulse was somewhere nearby. Pretty soon it was going full blast, and Dib realized that it was getting closer.

Soon he was running. His voice was trapped in his sore throat or he might’ve screamed. He couldn’t outrun the source of the signal. It got stronger even as he lost his stamina and stopped on the sidewalk, clutching his sides and wheezing.

He turned off the electromagnetic field scanner.

Ahead of him on the sidewalk Zim teetered high up on his spidery metal legs. Dib tried to tell himself the alien looked like a dumb little kid dangling from a car seat. The truth was that he was quite imposing at twice his usual height, his segmented tongue flicking out snake-like between sharp teeth.

“Have you returned to throw some more vile foodstuffs at me?” Zim squinted through the glassy contacts. The bizarre inhuman pupils contracted as he spoke. “Go ahead, Earth pig. I’ll laugh while you fail miserably once again!”

“I came empty handed tonight,” Dib announced. When Zim pointed at the field scanner, he held it out in front of him for the alien to investigate. “Well, I guess I _was_ trying to find you.”

“Why _are_ you pursuing me?” Zim asked earnestly. “You reek of the fuck, but your _hidden weapon_ isn’t even activated for me.”

Dib sniffed his t-shirt.

“You can tell something like that?”

“Two, maybe three hours ago… It’s faint—you changed clothes.” He stepped closer. Again the tongue swiped the air. “You did the fuck, alone, and then rolled around in your own pheromones like a maggot in filth.”

Dib couldn’t guess why the accuracy in Zim’s guess made him blush. Hopefully Zim couldn’t tell what he’d been thinking about when he’d done the deed.

A growing part of him wondered what would happen if the alien _could_ tell. That particular voice within him was growing stronger by the day, and Dib wondered if he would’ve felt that way if he hadn’t flushed his medication.

“Do you _like_ that smell on me?” Dib heard his own voice impulsively ask. Immediately he regretted it.

“It’s less offensive than some of your smells,” Zim admitted with a shrug.

“Is that a compliment?” Dib pushed.

“Absolutely not.” Claws folded behind Zim’s back as he forced a grim expression.

They stared at each other for a long, awkward minute.

“Good for you, that you can do the fuck without my assistance.” Zim was the first to break the silence. “While I’m flattered—not surprised, but flattered—that you’ve chosen to seek me, I should tell you now that what happened between us will never happen again. You can beg, but I will not fertilize you.”

“Wait, why?” Dib couldn’t hide his own disappointment. Now he’d _never_ get his picture.

“Fool!” now Zim’s fist clenched in Dib’s face. “I’m a soldier, not a breeding drone. My body’s physiology is intended for more _important_ matters than doing the fuck that your species is so obsessed with.”

Dib considered this.

“Are you saying that your body isn’t designed to have a hard dick?” He considered it further, only finding more questions than he had answers to. “Is it even a _dick_? Do you lay eggs? Don’t females lay eggs? How does it work for your species? Huh? _Huh_?”

“That experiment _killed_ me. I was technically dead.” Zim cut off the prattling human. His voice softened now. Dib could see up closer that the alien was clearly exhausted. “First I died because my arteries exploded from the pressure. Then I died again when the excessive blood created a blockage that stopped my entire circulatory system. I’m still suffering the consequences of trying to modify my intended design. It has taken me this long to fully regenerate.”

Now Dib wondered why he cared.

“I’m sorry you died twice from fucking me…”

“Zim needs no sympathy!” the alien snapped back from the moment’s somberness. “You tricked me into hurting myself with your beautiful subjugation. Hearing you beg for me to fertilize you was erotic enough to distract me from my mission.” Fists clenched. “I will not be tricked again.”

“I wasn’t begging you to _fertilize_ me…” Dib defended although knew it wasn’t the point. He pondered everything that the alien was telling him, however indirectly. “All that stuff you said on the bus—some of it was true, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember what you’re talking about.” The alien lied poorly.

“About laying eggs in people, incubating Irken young in a host body, all that stuff. It’s true, isn’t it?”

“_Historically_, yes.” Zim answered slowly. “That was millennia ago. Our modern invasion technology has advanced well beyond such primitive practices. Most Irken males, at least those of us within military and service classes are…” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “_Incapable_.”

“You’re infertile?” Dib grinned to say the lurid thing aloud. “You _can’t_ lay eggs in my stomach?”

Zim scoffed.

“_Females_ deposit eggs.”

“Either way… you’re impotent.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Zim threw his hands up dismissively. “If you won’t subjugate yourself to me then I have no reason to stand here and listen to your incoherent monkey noises.”

Dib’s heart suddenly sank to hear it. He’d never get his picture at this rate. But he couldn’t give up that easy. He hadn’t fought his way out of Sleepy Acres just to become a fry cook and live with his dad.

This was about paranormal investigation and the pursuit of truth. And _maybe_ it had something to do with his unhealthy obsession in getting another picture of Zim. Either way, he’d come too far to turn back now.

“Just because you can’t get hard, doesn’t mean this has to be over between us.” He pushed onward. Indeed, he still wanted another picture, even if he’d missed the opportunity to snap one of the space cock.

The alien squinted suspiciously. He crossed his arms and scowled, but allowed Dib to make his point.

“There are a lot of different ways to have sex. That’s why humans do it recreationally.” He tried to sound as scientific as possible since he was terrible at being seductive. Trying to make up for it, he closed the gap between them and reached forward to put an assertive hand on Zim’s hip. “You can subjugate me even without your cock in my stomach.”

At last he’d earned an intrigued head tilt.

“I think what I really need is, uh, a _superior_ being to put me in my place.” Encouraged, Dib pushed onward. He wished he’d consumed more of this type of pornography, just to have learned the vocabulary. “I really want you to treat me like the pathetic, _inferior_ worm I am. Will you?”

Zim made a show of considering the offer, although Dib recognized the look of intrigue as he tipped back his wig to scratch his antennae.

“You do seem to need it…” The alien reasoned aloud. “There would be none among your own species that would achieve your _total submission_ as successfully as I could.”

“Exactly!” Dib smiled even as his face seemed to catch on fire with a quick-spreading heat.

Zim nodded, a gloved hand lifting to hold Dib’s jaw.

“Looks like your weapon is arming itself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 6 summary:  
Dib gets a job at MacMeatie’s. He discovers that Torque Smackey works there as a manager—this helps him talk his way into an interview. Gaz is concerned that he’s moving too fast.  
Later, Dib masturbates to an old picture of Zim. Nightmares wake him up in the middle of the night. Dib anxiously walks the streets, obsessed with getting new pictures of Zim. When he encounters Zim, Zim admits to Dib that he is infertile/impotent, and that attempting to get an erection is too dangerous. Dib assures Zim that they can find other ways to have sex.  
Fade to black! Next chapter will be porn!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 7 warnings:  
Questionable consent and violation of trust at end of the chapter. Dib does some extra shitty stuff in this one.

Dib studied the underground chamber he’d been brought to. Surely this was not the alien’s bedroom, if he even had such a personal space. Rounded corners housed hulking scientific-looking equipment. Perplexing screens and buttons lined the walls. The whole place reminded him too much of his father’s lab.

Zim gestured to a long metal table in the center of the room. It seemed more suited as a workspace than a place to lay down. Regardless, Zim braced his hands on the edge of it and pulled himself up onto the flat surface.

Dib tried to tell himself that the alien looked like a kid climbing on the kitchen counter to sneak a cookie, but the image faded when Zim crossed his legs and stacked his clasped hands seductively on his raised knee. Black leather-like material gleamed in the ambient light. Dib could admit it was a sexy tableau, but he’d always been a sucker for a nice pair of boots.

He savored the image—pink eyes focused on him, full of unearthly fire. Even seated on the table at Dib’s waist height, Zim did not quite meet him eye to eye.

There was a certain thrill just to be close enough to Zim to touch him. Having consensual sex with an alien was like shaking hands with Bigfoot, or tossing a Chupacabra a fresh goat carcass. Some people – most people—would deny that something like this could ever happen.

Zim grumbled. “Show me!” he barked after Dib stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. “You said there are different ways you filthy humans do the fuck. Show me _all_ of the ways. Do it now!”

“It doesn’t usually happen all at once,” Dib argued. Not that he had any idea where to start.

He peered back at the compound eyes—in this light, he knew his phone camera would’ve picked up the insect-like texture in brilliant detail. This many years after he’d first looked into those eyes without the contact lenses, he still found the gaze so uncanny. It was unnatural to see intelligence in non-human eyes—sentience in something so unearthly.

It was this aspect of the paranormal that thrilled him to his core. His cock throbbed at the delay.

Zim shifted. His feet started swinging like he was getting bored.

“Can I kiss you?” Dib awkwardly asked permission.

“Of course…” Zim said, trying not to be caught in his uncertainty. He thought about it a moment longer. “Explain what you intend to do to me.”

Dib pursed his lips and demonstrated a kissy sound. It was more like a gesture from a grandma than a lover.

“With your _mouth_?” Zim didn’t try to hide his disgust. “Is that what the face-chewing ritual is about? Does it hurt?”

“It’s not chewing.”

“Wouldn’t you be able taste the other person’s saliva?”

“That’s kind of the point,” Dib said.

Zim gagged. “Sickening!”

“My spit isn’t as gross as your ovipositor thing and I’ve had _that_ in my mouth.” Dib didn’t know why he should care to defend his right to kiss Zim. What was the point if Zim found him so repulsive? Regardless, he pressed on. “It’s really important to humans when we want to be intimate. It’s part of how we select our mates.”

Zim stopped gagging. He scowled but listened.

“I think it has something to do with tasting each other’s pheromones,” he pontificated. “It’s kinda pointless, but it feels nice. And it’s a good place to start.”

“Fine.” Zim huffed, crossing his arms. “You may taste me.”

The first attempt was so unrequited that it hurt. Zim was rigid and unaffectionate. Dib leaned in and pressed his lips against a hard, scowling mouth.

“This is _pleasant_ to you?” he glared when Dib pulled away.

“Not when you clearly don’t want to be a part of it.” He couldn’t hide the agitation rising in his voice. “If you can’t handle kissing me, how can you stand to have sex with me? It’s not my fault you can’t just _invade_ me and lay eggs in my stomach.”

A long stretch of heated silence followed, then the scowl finally split into a forced smirk.

“Does sexual desperation make all humans this vulnerable?”

“Why am I even trying?” Dib asked himself aloud. He had no answer. “What do you _actually_ want from me, Zim?”

At last Zim relented. He held aloft a gloved hand and gestured for Dib to return to him.

“My people do something similar,” he offered. “Just not as _wet_.”

“Really?” Dib asked, baited by intrigue. “That’s surprising. I wouldn’t have guessed Irkens had affectionate gestures.”

“All sentient beings have people they’re close to, at least at some point in their life,” Zim observed somberly.

Dib didn’t ask him to elaborate.

Instead, he stepped closer at Zim’s beckoning. He tried not to flinch when the antennae bent forward toward his face. It was a feathery touch, less of a caress than a light, breezy tapping around his hairline.

“It would actually feel good if you could do it back,” Zim said bitterly, leaning closer to search for a better angle.

“What I _can_ do is kiss you,” he offered softly.

“Do it!” Zim ordered.

At last he wasn’t met with hateful stiffness this time. Zim’s mouth softened against his lips. He tried to move as delicately as the antennae touching his face. It seemed to be received better this time, so he kept going, the tip of his tongue wetting Zim’s bottom lip.

For all he knew, the alien would recoil at the first touch of his spit. But the green maw parted for him and he couldn’t help but gasp at the taste of Zim’s unearthly breath. It was like inhaling a mouthful of ozone, marinated with the flavor of sanitized air which reminded him of the smell of the hospital.

A quick, worm-like tongue lapped at him, slipping into his mouth before he could pull away from the sterile, almost alkaline kiss. It was nowhere near as invasive as Zim’s cock, but he could feel it tickle the back of his throat. It filled his mouth and coiled around his tongue while sandpapery teeth dragged against his lips.

Dib didn’t remember his hands wrapping around the tiny, slender waist, seizing fistfuls of the pink uniform. But he was purely lucid when black gloves squeezed his shoulders. The heel of a boot hooked itself around the back of his knee, urging him closer. This kiss was genuine and good despite the curiously biomechanical tasting alien spit. Dib let his hands fall to Zim’s hips. He jerked the alien closer to him and rubbed his erection in the broad gap between Zim’s legs.

He lost his breath at the tongue sliding deeper down his throat. Zim’s hands came up to his neck now, quickly tightening their grasp. Dib started to choke. He fought to pull away, but Zim latched onto him with a surprising strength. He stepped away from the table and Zim came with him, digging sharp fingers into Dib’s neck.

He at last relented when he lost his footing – Dib didn’t think it would’ve been right to try to hold him up. Dib shuddered at the tongue coming back up his throat as they parted.

“I wanna fuck you,” Dib heard himself say. He found himself with his fist bunched desperately in the front of his pants. “Is that even possible?”

Zim studied his posture. His head tilted, antennae swiveling as he observed, analyzed.

“You mean you want to penetrate me.” He guessed.

“Yeah.” Again Dib’s face was suddenly hot. “Could we do that without it hurting you?”

“Pain is irrelevant,” Zim said. “But it definitely won’t happen unless you show me you deserve it.”

Dib had a fair idea of what Zim wanted. He fell to his knees, gazing up into Zim’s eyes. He folded his hands like a child saying bedside prayers.

“Please? Pretty please?”

“You’ve _obviously_ never done this before.” Zim scoffed at the ridiculous display.

“Neither have you!” Dib spat back. “Space virgin!”

“I wouldn’t have earned myself the title of Invader if I didn’t know how to make my enemies submit to me.” Zim smirked. “You, on the other hand, will learn to _grovel_ if you want to penetrate my body-shell with that reproductive thingy you love so much.”

As he spoke, he ran his hands over his body. For a space virgin, Zim could be alluring. Gloved claws teased at the hem of his dress-like uniform.

“You’re going to teach me?” Dib tried and failed to sound sexy.

“Silence!” the sudden, militant volume made Dib flinch. “I will tell you when I want to hear you speak.”

It was easier to play along without his hands tied up or his head full of drugs. He smiled quietly and reached forward to touch the alien’s hip.

“Avert your eyes!” Zim barked, slapping the hand away.

Dib looked to the floor.

“Make yourself flat!”

Dib could only guess what the order meant. He sank further onto the floor, hands and knees braced below him. A boot came to rest on his shoulder and shoved him the rest of the way down.

“That’s better,” Zim cooed when the human was completely prostrate. Dib lifted his head for just a moment to catch a glimpse of the heat behind the magenta eyes. “Don’t think you’re entitled to look at me without my permission.” Zim barked. “Keep your face on the _dirty_ ground where it belongs.”

The tile-like material was cool on Dib’s cheek. His breath fogged the polished floor as well as his glasses. There was a shuffle above him and then he felt the first boot in the center of his back. A second step followed a moment later. Zim skillfully kept his footing on the soft flesh of Dib’s body while he walked around on him. Something sore crackled under the localized pressure and Dib sighed in relief.

“That actually feels good,” he moaned against the floor.

A second later he cried out in shock and pain as Zim strutted from his back to his outstretched hand, crushing Dib’s knuckles under his full weight.

Zim laughed coldly as Dib writhed, clutching the wounded hand. He stepped back onto the floor and shoved at Dib with his toe.

“You will turn over now. Show me your squishy mammal underbelly.”

Dib tried not to whimper as he obliged. The pain and the cold pressure of the floor had made him lose his erection. Zim pointed at it accusingly.

“Pathetic human! You insult me with this shameful display. You have _ten seconds_ to return that thing to working order!”

“I can’t get hard that fast,” Dib braced for another boot to the knuckles.

“Then… just do it!” Zim straddled Dib’s waist, fists on his hips, sneering down at Dib’s simpering face. “Truly, you belong down there. You’re just so awful to look at! Your flaccid pink body is like a wriggling grub!”

Through the pain, Dib stroked himself eagerly while Zim insulted him. The full attention was a treat—even though it meant he was laying on the floor submitting to Zim’s cruelty.

At last, the alien pulled up the uniform tunic and tucked it under his chin. The leggings were teased down coyly. Dib half expected to see the monstrous cock springing out again, flanked by its flowery appendages. Instead, the segmented belly was smooth and undisturbed, save for a small raised swell above his crotch, which Zim’s fingers caressed in a slow circle.

“Is that the same organ? Is it, like, _inverted_?” Dib froze after he said it. If it offended Zim he didn’t show it.

“Yes. This is what it’s like without the extra liters of blood engorging it.” He spoke somberly.

Then, he paused, seemed to consider something. A single antenna raised. He stared at Dib boredly but couldn’t hide the shiver that wracked through him as a finger pressed against the split and it gave way, spreading to make way for the intrusion.

Dib squeezed his balls and watched Zim slowly and uncertainly finger himself.

“Hm! I’ve never tried that before.” His shaking voice betrayed the cool facade.

“That’s really hot.” Dib tried to be encouraging as he stroked himself with renewed interest. “Does it feel good?”

Zim shrugged, averting his eyes. “It’s fine.”

“Can I go down on you?” He realized as soon as he said it that he should probably qualify the offer. “You know, with my _dirty_ mouth?”

Zim pondered it for a moment. He withdrew his hand and stepped back over to the table.

“Come here, now!” He snapped gloved fingers and pointed at the floor in front of him, a gesture one would make at an animal. Dib crawled on his knees, the crushed hand stiff as the knuckles were starting to swell.

“Make this interesting or I’ll step on the other one,” Zim warned when he noticed Dib rubbing at his bruised fingers.

He stared at the spot on Zim’s abdomen. The male organ was much farther forward than a human vulva. The area was not grotesquely splayed like it had been when Zim’s cock was out, but it was swollen enough that Dib could see soft flesh peeking out from between the smooth, segmented plates.

Although he said nothing, Zim noticeably stiffened when Dib touched him. Without something hard wedging it apart the opening seemed impossibly small. It didn’t seem like the right time to mention it, so he took what was being offered and worked a finger in.

“It’s pretty wet,” Dib breathed gratefully.

“_So_? You’re moist inside, too!” The defensiveness in Zim’s voice made Dib laugh out loud.

“I mean I think it’ll feel good.” He stifled his grin and tried to work a second finger, forgetting the humor when he realized the strange texture inside. “It might be more comfortable if you had some kind of lubricant.”

“I have no need for decadent Earth accoutrements!” Zim dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. Dib wondered if Zim felt the same way he did now when he’d turned down the offer of sedatives last time. Either way, he wouldn’t argue if Zim wanted to do it the hard way.

He slipped his fingers out and then scooted closer, bringing his hands to the back of Zim’s thighs while he laid a kiss on the split in the abdomen. _This_ was the taste that had been haunting his dreams for the last two nights. It was definitely inhuman but distinctly a sexual aroma. Each morning after he’d swallowed Zim’s cock he’d woken up in a cold sweat with _that_ taste on his lips.

His tongue slipped in with more ease than his fingers. The flesh inside was silky and delicate. His glasses fogged and he pulled away to fold them and tuck them into his jacket pocket. He knew he should’ve found a better place for them but in the moment he couldn’t be dragged away from the new experience.

Zim sighed and eased his legs further apart. Sharp fingers tightened their grip on Dib’s shoulders as he plunged his tongue past the split in the alien underbelly. Even in the heat of the moment, Dib wondered how he would feel if _he_ were the one who couldn’t achieve full arousal without altering his body’s chemistry. Anybody would be a little rigid the first time trying to work around it.

Zim, to his credit, was no longer acting like Dib’s attention was the most tedious thing ever. Small boots shifted along the floor as knees trembled. Dib squeezed the petite green ass and held him steady while he tongue-fucked the curious opening.

“Penetrate me…” a shaky, perhaps nervous, voice ordered. “Do it now before I change my mind!”

“Wait,” Dib’s voice was muffled around a mouthful of the inverted space cock. “My backpack…” He reluctantly pulled away, dragging the bag across the floor from where it had been discarded.

Zim glared at him untrustingly when he retrieved and held aloft a foil packet.

“What are you doing with _that_?” he asked, clearly disturbed by its presence.

“It’s a condom…? Uh, it’s not a reflection on you,” it wouldn’t be, Dib thought of the space virgin, “It’s to protect against sexually transmitted diseases…”

“You have _diseases_?” Zim recoiled. He pointed at the item frantically. “Use it, then! Quickly!” He watched Dib open the packet and sighed in relief when the rubber came out.

“Ah! You _wear_ it… I thought it was some of that cheese powder stuff my robot puts on its pizza…”

There was a shuffle of clothing and limbs while they moved to accommodate each other. Zim said nothing more as he easily climbed back onto the table. Perched on the edge, he wriggled out of a boot and pulled his leg out of his pants. Three long, segmented toes gripped the edge of the table. Dib couldn’t guess why he blushed just to see Zim’s weird, unshod foot. How many different kinks was he involved in now?

Zim plunged gloved fingers inside of himself while Dib moved in for another kiss. He sighed pleasantly when the antennae returned to tickle at his face. He briefly considered suggesting lube a second time, then thought better of it, even as Zim cringed at the pressure of Dib’s cock.

Still, he didn’t dare hesitate. He pushed into the enticing heat—he didn’t know why he’d expected the alien to feel clammy inside—making a show of groaning for Zim to hear.

The organ was agonizingly tight. Dib breathed into the raised uniform collar. Seated to his balls, he pulled the small frame into an embrace, surprised when Zim didn’t protest. Instead, thin arms snaked over Dib’s shoulders, hitching himself up for a better angle. Feet scrambled on the table, parting further to make room for the intrusion.

The alien peered between them at the point of contact and shuddered sickly. Pink eyes were wide and unmistakably overwhelmed.

“Are you okay?” Dib felt foolish as soon as he said it.

Zim’s voice was quite strained even as he scoffed. “If you were a more adequately-developed Earth male I might actually feel you in there!”

There was some serious irony in Zim insulting the size of his cock. Dib did not point out the observation. Instead he wrapped his hands around the bony, segmented hips, holding Zim up while he slowly fucked him.

Breathy silence fell between them. Eventually they worked into a hitched rhythm. Zim clutched Dib’s shoulders, eyes falling closed as his face settled against the human’s collarbone. The gesture might’ve seemed tender if not for the sharp finger-claws digging into Dib’s muscles. It was quite a different perspective than gazing up at him from the floor with a cock lodged in his digestive tract.

Regardless of the difference, it was just as eerie this time to not only hear but _feel_ the chirruping coming from the alien’s chest.

It was a brilliant moment. He couldn’t think to see the intimacy in it, only reflecting that he must’ve been the only person on the planet to hear that bizarre insect-like noise. Dib wished he had a free hand to hold his phone and record the fascinating sound. The weight of it in his back pocket was making his pants sag, reminding him of its present accessibility. He could’ve let go of Zim’s hips and snapped a photo right then and there—the thought of it made his guts tighten as he drove himself into Zim’s body hard enough to rattle the table.

A soft whimper registered in Dib’s ear, muffled with Zim’s face in his shirt. Zim was still surprisingly wet. He couldn’t imagine that the masculine organ would be self-lubricating. Either way, Dib was close to coming but struggling to keep up the pace. A month of being fed heavy sedatives and institutional cafeteria food had left him with little stamina and a few extra pounds on his frame.

But he couldn’t give up. He groaned from the exhaustion, pushing Zim back onto the metal table. He braced himself on his elbows and fucked him harder at the improved angle.

“You’re _sweating_ on me!” Zim yelped a moment later, flinching at the droplets.

“I’m coming,” Dib replied lamely before confirming his announcement. The orgasm was a lackluster ending, and he wheezed hideously as he finished.

“That’s _it_?” Zim wriggled beneath him. “Maybe if you didn’t have to rut like an animal you wouldn’t exert yourself so quickly.”

Dib rolled off of him, too spent to think of a decent comeback. What else had he expected from Zim? Affection? Tenderness?

He leaned wearily against the table, unsure if it was worth it to climb up there next to him.

Zim certainly didn’t seem like he wanted to cuddle. He already sat upright, hunched over himself, frantically investigating between his legs.

He gagged loudly and held a pube aloft between gloved fingers. “You didn’t tell me you were going to _shed_ on me!” Zim scolded in horror.

Dib shuffled to his feet, swaying tiredly as he pulled up his pants. The presence of his phone made itself known again, shifting in his pocket. He buttoned his jeans slowly, trying to seem casual as he stole another glance. The alien was busy recoiling and pointing at the filled condom which had fallen off onto the floor.

If he’d hated it so much, why did he let it happen? Dib’s stomach hurt. Part of him wanted to apologize; most of him wanted to tell Zim to fuck off.

He should’ve done just that—instead he slid his hand into his back pocket, slyly easing his phone out.

If Zim insisted on making him feel like a predator, maybe he should act like one. He closed several notifications—three texts and two missed calls from Gaz—and turned on his camera.

The tiny, subtle sound of the lens opening caused antennae to twitch accusingly. Zim whipped his head up.

“Hey!”

But it was too late.

“Aw, yeah! That was _perfect_!” Dib exclaimed to himself when his phone displayed the successfully captured photo. It was better than getting a picture of the Jersey Devil sucking Bigfoot’s dick while a ghost jacked off in the corner.

He couldn’t dwell on the victory too long. Zim was already off the table, rising like a tidal wave on the PAK legs while he furiously pulled his uniform pants back on. Dib tried to bolt. His shoes scrambled for purchase. Even once he caught his footing, there was nowhere to go. Zim had him cornered. Dib flinched and shielded his face as the sharp tip of a metal foot pinned him with his back on a wall.

“Disgusting Earth beast!” Zim’s hands wrapped around his throat and tightened.

Dib wheezed and pried at the grip, marveling at the strength in the small arms.

Zim’s evil laughter built slowly while he squeezed Dib’s windpipe enough to make him cough and gasp for air. He carried on like this for a long time, coming in close to whisper in Dib’s ear.

“Delete it.”

A hideous noise wretched itself out of Dib’s lungs when Zim released him. He clutched at his throat and sucked air lamely.

“Show me you’ve deleted it! Do it now!”

Dib snapped to it, his phone in his hands less than a second later, opening his camera roll and frantically deleting the picture while Zim leered over him and watched.

It didn’t feel right. Zim let him off way too easy. Even as he was knocked off his feet and dragged ragdoll-style through the tunnels of the alien lair, he kept waiting for it to get worse. But it never did. By the time they were at the front door of the ‘house’ Dib was more shocked by Zim’s lack of a reaction than anything else.

“Make yourself scarce, human! Enjoy your peace while you still have it…” Zim shrieked at him from his stoop. Dib gathered himself and his stuff off the sidewalk, in petrified awe that he’d gotten away with no more than scrapes on the palms of hands.

His stamina to run away lasted about as long as his stamina to fuck Zim. A block or so away he doubled over, bracing his stinging hands on his knees. He caught his breath and took inventory. His backpack and its contents had been tossed out onto the sidewalk after him. He patted himself down for his phone and glasses. His phone was there, his glasses were not.

At least it was early enough in the morning that the buses would be running again. He gave himself a headache trying to make out the street signs, but he knew the neighborhood well enough from stalking Zim for years. It helped that the sun was coming up.

Suddenly Dib realized that all hope was not lost. He whipped out his phone and hunted through his recently deleted photos. Sure enough, a cloud copy of the picture was there. He got away with it after all! He should’ve been more rejoiced but the feeling that swept over him instead made him feel nauseous. He sat down on the curb to steady himself, gripping the edge to keep from flying away.

Anxiety and obligation compelled him to finally call Gaz back.

_“Now where are you?” _she demanded, sounding like she’d been woken up. If she was relieved to hear from him she didn’t let on.

“I don’t remember, I’ll have to get up and look at the street sign,” he answered honestly. “Can you pull out my spare glasses?”

_“You lost yours?”_

“I’m pretty sure I left them at Zim’s house.”

_“I see.”_ Somehow this information pacified her. “_Guess I’ll be hearing about your night... I’ll break out the entomology textbook.”_

When he’d staggered his way to a bus stop and boarded the first one that came along, he sat in the back and nervously peeked all around him. Then he pulled out his phone and held it close to his face, pulling up the prized picture.

He snorted aloud at the shocked and outraged expression on Zim’s stupid face. It was absolutely classic, his mouth hanging open mid-yell, a hand pointing like a tiny Napoleon commanding his army to take no prisoners. His other hand was still spreading the segmented abdomen to expose the alien sex organ. Dib squinted, blushed, and peered over his shoulder again before zooming in.

The camera had a fantastic flash. There were so many more brilliant details in the photograph than Dib hadn’t been able to see in person without his glasses on. He marveled at the different colors and textures…

Primarily he noticed a lot of dark green splotches that resembled bruises. There was an incredible amount of pink fluid smeared down Zim’s legs, spilling onto the table and darkening the uniform leggings. Dib’s stomach turned with shame.

“That’s a nice one,” a breathy voice huffed beside him. He jerked up and was met with a wall of body odor and the aroma of provolone cheese. A middle-aged fellow in a trench coat and flip-flops sat next to him and leered over his shoulder. He gestured to the picture on Dib’s phone, which he promptly turned off and jammed into his pocket.

“You can find another place to sit,” he warned the guy.

“Which message board did you get that one on?” the man asked, fondling himself through his sweatpants. He reached into his cupcake-patterned backpack and pulled out a crusty laptop.

“Driver!” Dib screamed to the front of the coach, slamming on the pull cord, rising frantically from his seat.

“If you like that stuff, you’re going to dig this.” The man opened a file on his desktop.

Dib didn’t know why he looked, only that he did. He recognized it—it was a picture of the Jersey Devil sucking Bigfoot’s dick while a ghost jacked off in the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 7 summary:  
Three-quarters of this chapter is really-drawn out smut. Sort of a mutual fetishization of each other; Dib gets off thinking about recording/photograping Zim getting fucked, Zim’s just grossed out by human stuff the whole time. Beginnings of a D/s dynamic. Zim bottoms.  
After Dib gets off, he takes a picture of Zim post-sex. Zim lets him go suspiciously easy. Dib gets away with a copy of the picture and has a creepy encounter with a bus weirdo.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still here, you're awesome.

Zim was not in class the next day. Dib stared at the empty seat in the front of the lecture hall, trying to guess why the alien’s absence inspired such a real, raw panic in him.

Guilt gnawed at him, at least the part of him that felt compassion for a person like Zim. Beyond the stolen photo, Dib wondered whether the alien had been badly hurt during their encounter. Each time Dib started to feel like he’d done something wrong, he tried to remind himself that Zim should’ve spoken up if he’d been uncomfortable.

It was easy to try to justify the issues with their sex. How concerned should he really be about the comfort of someone who intended to destroy the earth and enslave the human race?

It was what he’d done afterward that ate at him. He knew he should delete the restored copy of the picture—he shouldn’t have taken it in the first place—but it was too precious a trophy for his collection. Each time he looked at it, he was torn between wanting to post it on his favorite XXXCryptids board, and between wishing he’d never taken advantage of Zim’s trust.

The latter feeling was stronger, but not strong enough to delete the restored photo.

The split in his feelings aggravated the anxiety that continued to burgeon in him throughout the rest of the day. The guilt consumed him and simmered into his nerves. He wasn’t ready to answer for the shitty thing he’d done.

Zim definitely let him off way too easy. Dib knew he probably stood to have his phone smashed to bits, or worse. Even having become “woke” in kollege, Zim was not a forgiving person—certainly not enough to let such a slight go unpunished.

“What time does your first shift start?” Gaz asked him while he paced in the kitchen that afternoon.

“Five.” He wrung his hands and tried to stop thinking about what Zim had in store for him.

“Want me to fix your undercut before you go?” she offered, an unusually nice gesture for her.

“My hair looks fine,” he insisted, too busy fretting to care what he looked like.

“You haven’t cut it since before you went into the hospital.” She pushed. “And I think you could use a distraction.”

When they were set up in the backyard with the clippers, she finally revealed her true motive.

“Don’t get mad at me, okay?” she said, tilting his head forward to shave the tufted hair on the back of his scalp. “I think you should get around to doing a follow-up appointment with that counselor from the hospital.”

“Seriously?” he couldn’t help but turn to glare at her. “That’s why you’re being nice to me?”

She shoved his head back around and kept going with the clippers. “I’m not saying you need meds, I just think you might feel better if you had something for your anxiety.”

“I don’t technically have anxiety,” he said smugly. “That’s the one thing they _didn’t_ diagnose me with in that place. Leave me some sideburns.”

“Are you sure? It looks stupid with sideburns.” She continued working on his hair, pondering her next choice of words. “Maybe you should talk to a counselor about getting a better diagnosis.”

“You still don’t understand what that place was like for me, do you?” He rubbed at the freshly shaved part of his scalp and glared at her when she was finished. “A counselor? Seriously? How can I open up to someone who thinks everything that matters to me is a paranoid delusion?”

“Somebody will believe you,” she insisted. “Eventually.”

“In the meantime the rest of them will just laugh at me.” He hugged himself reliving the memories of their cruelty. “I told one of those doctors about getting abducted by aliens when I was little, and they decided it was a fantasy I created to cope with being molested.”

“_Were_ you molested?”

“No!” he said, offended that she’d even ask. “I mean, I don’t really remember. But I remember aliens.”

“Wow…” Gaz said softly. “I didn’t know.”

“You knew I was abducted by aliens as a kid.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know…” for once _she_ was silenced by _his_ glare. She looked to the clippers in her hands, absently picking hair bits off the blade. “I still think you should see a counselor for a while.”

“I have to get ready for work,” he muttered to himself as much as to her, storming off to gather his hat and shirt.

At least she’d successfully taken his mind off of Zim for a while.

The first shift at MacMeatie’s was a five-hour blur. Dib vaguely remembered a lot of grease, sweat, and “meat.” Even on his first day, work was the last thing on his mind. He was too preoccupied wondering where Zim was that morning if not at skool. Surely the alien was busy arranging some unspeakable revenge. Dib was so deeply involved in his worrying that he didn’t realize he’d been nervously holding his stomach, wondering how many egg cartons could fit in there.

“Ate too many fries, huh? Yeah, you get used to it after a couple weeks.” Torque caught him clutching his belly while he was demonstrating the use of the fryer. “Anyway, like I was saying, it really sucks when your skin starts to cook off. Make sure you keep your body parts away from the oil at all times.”

“Yeah…” Dib tried to listen, but he thought he’d seen movement in the kitchen’s single grease-coated window. A shadow in the shape of spider legs, perhaps. When he squinted at the sticky, yellowed glass, all he saw was his reflection, which he hardly recognized with his long hair in a ponytail under the stupid MacMeatie’s hat.

As soon as the shift started to wrap up, he realized too late that he wasn’t ready to leave the source of distraction.

“It’s really almost over,” he said aloud while they scraped the bottom of the empty fryer. The end of the shift meant he’d have to leave this safe space and go outside. In the dark. “Is there anything extra we can do after we’re done closing up?” Dib asked frantically while Torque showed him how to spray the grease off the floors.

“Why, you need some more hours?” Torque asked, picking with his bare hands at a wad of wet fries that had been stomped into a floor drain.

“Yeah!” Dib insisted, latching onto the excuse. He wrung the floor sprayer nozzle with nervous hands. “I’ll even stay here till the sun comes up!”

“We’re actually kinda short on hours…” Torque said apologetically.

“Please, man!” Dib begged, anxiety creeping up his chest and neck, making his face hot. “I’ll stay and clean the bathrooms. With a toothbrush!”

“Damn, you’re _really_ broke, huh?” Torque laughed. “We’re getting paid on Thursday. Till then I’ll see what I can do.”

When Dib had no more means to stall, he found himself out on the street. His backpack was foolishly underpacked and he had nothing helpful but the moist $20 bill that Torque had stuffed into his fist on the way out.

The bus stop was empty save for a sleeping drunk hogging the bench. Dib preferred to stand closer to the street anyway. He needed a better view of his surroundings and plenty of room to pace. When the bus was a half hour late, he started talking to himself.

Something shuffled behind him when he said Zim’s name aloud and he flinched so hard he could’ve jumped out of his MacMeatie’s shirt.

“Would you SHUT UP already!” the bum in the bus shelter wailed when Dib’s nervous voice woke him up.

Just when Dib’s anxiety had reached a point of making tears well in his eyes, he spotted a bus coming. It wasn’t the one he needed, but he got on it anyway. It was going the right direction, at least. He pulled out his phone to text Gaz again. She’d had an event at the hi-skool, but surely it was over by now. He clutched the phone in his lap, scolding himself when he checked for a reply twice in the same minute.

She did not pick up when he called. Not even when he called a second time. Or a third.

The bus rolled to a crowded stop. People shuffled off and on.

The denizens crawling the city at this hour were mostly tired workers coming home from late shifts at bad jobs, or groggy-looking shufflers who paid for the bus with the card from the hospital. One such shuffler entered the bus and something in Dib’s stupid head instantly snapped to attention.

He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, squinted at the green-skinned old man strolling onto the bus.

Cold, glassy contacts shined at him as the four-foot-tall old man walked down the aisle, tugging his prosthetic beard.

Dib gripped the vertical bar with white knuckles, tearing himself out of his seat so forcefully that people gasped and flinched.

He met Zim in the aisle, blocking his path. Their gaze locked for a moment. Dib gritted his teeth and shoved past the disguised alien and the rest of the confused people getting on the bus behind him.

“Go out the back door next time, moron!” the driver shrieked at him as he tore out of the vehicle and down the street as fast as he could on feet that were tired from the MacMeatie’s shift. The summers he’d worked in hi-skool had not left him as exhausted as the pathetic five-hour day. His body was absolutely trashed from a month of being locked in a windowless room and fed sedatives and cheap carbohydrates.

A different bus was just pulling into a stop across the street. He dashed across traffic to catch it, wheezing grossly when he took a seat. Now the MacMeatie’s shirt was especially effervescent. A couple who’d been sitting behind him moved to another spot farther away.

He tried calling Gaz a fourth time; when it went straight to voicemail he figured her phone must’ve died while she was out.

His hands were shaking. He tried to lean back in his seat and catch his breath.

The bus stopped. A staggering crackhead got off. A short, green, old man got on.

“Shit!” Dib wrapped his arms around himself, perhaps to try to conceal the colorful work uniform, and sank into his seat by the window. He huddled like that until the old man would pass— but he never did.

Zim sat in the seat across the aisle from him. He said nothing, made no move to look at or acknowledge him.

Dib stayed in his seat, paralyzed by the anxiety.  


Now, on the tail end of the sixth day after the fact, Dib finally wished he’d never flushed his medication.

This was his Room 101. He wanted the blissful, carefree freedom of being thoughtless. It was so easy to live a life like that, to spend one’s days in a medicated stupor, coloring with broken crayons and loving Big Brother.

Indeed, when he’d at last been let out of the psych ward, it had blown his mind to find out how long he’d actually been locked up. It had felt like a week and a half. It had been over a month.

The moment on the late-night bus with Zim seemed to go on for a month as well. The next stop came at last and Dib bolted off again. He didn’t dare turn back to see if he was being pursued. Instead he huffed and puffed until he found a shopping center whose doors were still unlocked.

He didn’t get far before a security guard stopped him.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he gasped between breaths, desperate once forced to say it aloud. “I don’t usually ask this kind of thing, but—I’m being followed and I just need to hang out in here for a little bit.”

“Oh, you’re being _followed_,” she said, already rolling her eyes. “By whomst?”

“An evil alien who’s trying to infiltrate our society and destroy our planet!” her skeptical look prompted him to try again. “I mean, this guy I’ve been seeing. He’s really aggressive…”

She escorted him firmly by the back of his shirt to the revolving doors. “Freak!” she screamed at him through the still-spinning entrance.

Back out on the street, Dib tried calling his sister one more time.

“Gaz!” he breathed heavily into the receiver when her voicemail picked up. “He’s following me… can’t outrun him… too fat from psych ward food… nobody wants to help me…” he was walking as he talked, struggling to form words. “I love you and Dad. Bye.”

He ended the call and put the phone away again, making his way back to the bus stop. He sat in the shelter, huddling in the dark. He was so tired, his legs wouldn’t keep moving even if he tried.

It was over.

Now that he’d accepted it, his anxiety seemed to plateau at a place where he could be still and hold himself, shivering and waiting for his impending doom.

Soon enough, a small figure approached on the street and entered the bus shelter. The short old man tugged at his beard and sat on the bench next to Dib.

Dib trembled but said nothing.

“That was a brief, but interesting pursuit.” Zim said softly with a nod. The gloved hand reached forward to settle on Dib’s knee.

Dib realized then that it had all been a simple game to him. His own guilt had been what had made it such a horrifying ordeal. Zim grinned like they’d just taken a stroll through the park together. Did he even know the shame Dib had been running from?

Zim shifted, pulling forward a canvas bag which had been dangling at his side. He reached inside and produced a canister with a hose and a plastic face mask.

The alien looked to him, glassy eyes studying Dib’s face for a reaction.

“Shall we, then?” He prompted at last.

“Yeah.” Dib wondered what the sedatives were for this time. But he knew he deserved whatever was coming.

The man leaned back in defeat, not even flinching when Zim slipped the mask over his face. He could only accept what he’d brought upon himself. Dib tasted the bitter gas. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 8 summary:  
Zim is absent from skool. Dib has an all-day anxiety attack. Gaz tries to encourage him to get counseling.  
Dib works his first MacMeatie’s shift.   
He lowkey freaks out, especially when he sees Zim on a random bus downtown. A long, spooky scene of urban nighttime pursuit follows. Realizing that he must pay his due for hurting Zim, Dib gives up and lets Zim catch him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 9 warnings:  
Surgery tag. Overly descriptive.  
Also, this is where Zim’s AU stuff starts getting big in this fic!

A long period of dreamless unconsciousness passed over him. Time lost from anesthesia felt like a chunk was missing from his life.

When Dib came out of it, he was bombarded by a wall of sounds. The heaviest notes were the hum of equipment. Several machines worked around him, one of them steadily pulsing. One machine emitted a beeping tone similar in rhythm to an electrocardiogram.

He forced his eyes open to find the source of the noise. He stared up into a bright white light that hurt his retinas and blurred his already hazy vision. A moment later when he tried to rub his face, he became aware that he couldn’t move. Blinded and paralyzed, he was delved back into his most haunting memory.

The alien spacecraft he’d been taken to as a child.

He couldn’t help but whimper to be met with this scene yet again. It shook him to his very core.

Dib realized soon enough that he was in the present moment when small boot steps paced across a hard floor. Compound eyes dominated his field of vision and gazed down at him.

“Hi!” Zim grinned gleefully.

“What’s going on?” Dib could barely move his lips to form words.

“Aw, you can’t see from there, can you?” Zim moved beside him, cranking a handle. A platform behind Dib’s head lifted so that he looked forward.

He was in the laboratory space again, surrounded by a circle of active machinery. The sound that he’d thought resembled an ECG was indeed produced by a screen showing a human heartbeat. The pulsing and thrumming were all accounted for, too. The only question remaining unanswered was his inability to move. He strained to look down at himself.

Most of his body was obscured by a shiny black material, except for his chest and abdomen. Tubes and cords from the machines disappeared beneath the edges of the black fabric. The exposed skin was pale, freshly shaved, and marked with little red dots.

“Zim…” he groaned the name. Vengefully or pitifully, he wasn’t sure.

The alien perched beside him, smiling like a human child with a new puppy.

“My ever so loathsome human worm baby, Dib-stink, whom I will henceforth refer to as my disgusting little Love-Pig,” Zim prattled, speaking frantically, wringing his hands. His grin was wide and quite mad. He rocked as he spoke. “Do you have any idea what you’re about to receive? You are so pure and unsullied, so ripe for penetration. For _invasion_.”

Dib blinked the worst of the heavy sedatives out of his eyes.

“…I caught like, half of that.”

“Nevermind! There are more important issues to discuss!” Zim continued, his instable glee turning sinister. “When you came to me tonight, you reeked of a substance used as a punitive tool to torture disgraced prisoners in the most brutal Irken penal colonies.”

Dib struggled to recall what he’d been doing before his life had come to this moment. A visual appeared in his mind of Torque Smacky’s thick fingers covered with crumbs and opaque brown grease.

“Cooking oil?” he guessed.

“I knew it!” Zim recoiled. “Why did you smell like this? Tell me now!”

“I got a job…” Dib recalled the scattered pieces of his life. “I was cleaning a deep-fryer all night.”

“_Unacceptable_!” Zim absolutely wailed. There was an unusual distress to it that didn’t match his typical arrogance. He stormed away from the side of the table where Dib was laid out, pacing with his hands behind his back.

It took Dib a moment to realize that he was not wearing his little pink uniform; his usual dress was replaced with an ankle-length purple surgical gown. His antennae were covered and a purple surgical mask dangled around his neck.

“The Dib-human does not belong to some _frylord_!” Zim cried out. He whirled around dramatically to point at the man on his operating table. “You are property of Zim!”

Dib just laid there, as he clearly had no other option. He watched Zim fret and pace, wringing the gloved claws and muttering to himself in an incomprehensible language.

“Wait.” Dib spoke up when the words finally registered. Obviously something more than jealously was bothering him, but Dib had to know. “Does that basically mean we’re dating? Is that what it means if I’m your property? Huh? Huh?”

“You will quit this little _job_ thingy!” Zim barked rather than acknowledge the questions.

“No way!” Dib replied. In the partially anaesthetized stupor, his own voice sounded like it was coming from another room. “Do what you want to me, but I’m going to earn some money and get my shit together, and you can’t stop me.”

Zim blinked at him as he spoke.

“Those are your conditions?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“That is your price, for your permission to do what I want with your body-shell?” Zim said. “That I _permit_ you to hold employment in a food dungeon?”

“Yeah…?”

Zim nodded, satisfied with whatever Dib had agreed to.

“Well, I’m _clearly_ getting the worse end of the deal, but I can work with it.” He shrugged and pulled up the surgical mask. Purple gloves traced along the lines of dots leading to Dib’s navel.

Dib watched him. The alien’s hands moved methodically although his eyes betrayed his excitement. The surgical mask stretched like he was grinning beneath it.

“I wonder…” Zim breathed, fingering a set of neatly arranged tools on a worktable at the bedside. “How you will look inside…”

Dib wailed.

Zim’s scalpel was smooth and efficient like a zipper in his skin. Burning tears in Dib’s eyes stopped him from watching the layers of his flesh peeled back.

“GIR! Stop dancing around with those clamps and bring them to me!”

Zim grunted at the hard work, pulling strong, taught muscles out of his way. Dib had worn himself out trying to scream and just cried softly now.

“Just as I thought,” Zim crooned quite sickeningly, perched high atop his PAK legs for a moment, gazing down at his handiwork. “You are absolutely disgusting inside.”

“Why are you doing this?” Dib groaned, hoping to pass out, yet morbidly fascinated that he could still be conscious.

“Wait, I have to show you something!” Zim said in an uncharacteristically cheerful voice.

He stepped away, fussing with items somewhere across the room where Dib couldn’t see. When he returned, he held Dib’s phone in his gloved hand, turning it so that Dib could clearly see the screen.

Dib watched Zim open up his camera roll.

“Now, where was it?” the alien scrolled through several selfies he’d taken with the confiscated phone. Even without his glasses Dib could make out the arthropod eyes batting and green lips pursed in familiar duck-like faces. “Oh, there it is! Don’t I look _cute _in this one?”

Zim held the phone a half-inch away from Dib’s face. He didn’t need to see it clearly to know what it was.

It was, of course, _the_ picture.

“I’m so sorry, Zim…” Dib whimpered when he was finally confronted with it. Despite everything—including the fact that he was gazing into his own exposed organs—the thing that caused him the most distress was facing his guilt. He couldn’t meet Zim’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Dib repeated, softly crying again.

“Your sorrow means nothing to me, human!” Zim’s voice boomed, rattling the tools on his worktable. Then, he turned the phone’s camera on and leaned in beside the operating table.

“I know! Let’s get one together so we can remember how much fun we had!” he mimicked a voice. “_Ooh, I’m a ugly pig-smelly human and I have to take pictures of myself with all my hideous grublike associates_. Pathetic.” He snapped a photo of himself with Dib’s crying, intubated face. A droplet of Dib’s blood smeared across the screen.

“What can I do to make this right?” Dib sniffled while Zim continued to humiliate him, snapping pictures of his open abdomen.

“You are doing it right now,” Zim answered, a weird distance in his voice. “You have done it before, on the day you begged me to engorge myself for you.”

Dib swallowed dryly remembering the ovipositor in his esophagus.

“You… want a willing test subject to experiment on?” He guessed.

“Not just _a_ test subject,” Zim said wearily. “Your species is a breed of simple-minded animals that are easily herded toward their slaughter. I was busy this morning, finding clean specimens make enough spare blood for you, Love-Pig. They weren’t like _you_. They were all so mindless and unquestioning. Barely sentient. They couldn’t have defended themselves against a smeet.”

“You _killed_ people for this?” Dib groaned.

“I needed enough blood to replace what you’ll lose while I’m working.” Zim at last set aside the phone and wiped his gloves on his gown.

Dib couldn’t bear to watch the first hand plunge into his open abdomen. The sound was wet and awful. As much as he hated the lost time, he wondered if he should ask to be sedated. Even under the slight anesthesia he was anxious again.

“How are you doing that?” Zim asked when his increased heart rate registered on the electrocardiogram.

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” Dib insisted.

Zim studied the readouts on his machines.

“When you first came to me, that night that you begged me to fertilize you, there was an impressive amount of foreign chemicals in your body. So much it would’ve slowed an Irken soldier down.” Zim said. “Now, those chemicals are diluted. See?” he gestured toward the screen’s incoherent alien data.

“I didn’t beg you to _fertilize_ me…” Dib breathed as Zim braced a bloody hand on his chest.

“Explain the discrepancy, human!”

“I’m coming off some really strong stuff,” Dib tried to explain. “I was in the psych ward… well, you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Do you require more of these chemicals to function properly?” Zim sounded like he was about to make an offer.

“_Please_, no.”

“Are these chemicals correlated with your recent physiological changes?” Zim poked at a layer of adipose tissue in Dib’s belly. “You used to be able to run from me so for much longer.”

“The drugs had a lot to do with it,” Dib wondered if he was blushing now, too sedated to feel his face. “It also doesn’t help that I’ve been living off of ketchup and rice for the last month.”

“And you think that subjugating yourself to fry-torture will improve the state of your dilapidated body?”

“I wasn’t planning on eating at work every day.” Dib said. A moment of silence prompted him to bicker with the alien. “Why does my job piss you off so much? Are you afraid of fries?”

“I am the one asking questions!” Zim’s voice raised. The readout on the ECG was increasing steadily. “Slow your circulatory system or I’ll give you something that will do it for you.”

“I can’t do it on command!” Dib wheezed. “Sorry I’m getting anxious during my _waking fucking surgery_, Zim! Maybe if you hold my hand and talk to me, I’ll calm down!”

“Your hands have already been sterilized,” Zim said a minute later, softly if not somewhat annoyed. “But you may _talk_ if it’ll help.”

“Sure. I’ll probably never get another chance to just sit and talk with you anyway,” Dib sighed.

Zim leaned forward and plunged his hands back into Dib’s abdomen.

Dib cringed at the return of the wet sound. It reminded him of the noise he’d heard earlier that day when he’d watched Torque Smacky stick his arm into a five-gallon bucket of mayonnaise.

He couldn’t help but whimper. He knew he was anaesthetized, but he swore he could feel Zim’s hands scraping around inside of him.

Zim scowled. He gazed at the electrocardiogram.

“What is it that you want to talk about so badly, human?” he prompted, unusually patient.

“I don’t know. Anything! Simple stuff to distract me.” Dib mumbled around a grimace. “Like, what’s your favorite color?”

Zim squinted. “Why would I chose a favorite _color_?” he asked like the innocuous question was offensive.

“I don’t know. Just to have one that you can say you like?” Dib struggled to explain such a common concept. The sedatives didn’t make it easier. “You pick one and then you get little accessories in that color. It’s just a color you really like. I think everybody has one.”

“How pointless.”

“Your culture doesn’t have a lot of individuality, does it?”

“Irken culture has absorbed _trillions_ of individuals!” Zim defended.

“Nevermind.” Dib grumbled. Trying one last time, he added, “Maybe you don’t care about the color, but you look good in purple.”

The alien glanced at his surgical gown.

“Was that a compliment?”

“Yes, Zim, I was calling you attractive just now.” The coldness in Zim’s eyes angered him. “I thought you were attractive when I was fucking you last night, too.”

“Excuse my confusion. You have called me hideous for many years.”

“Well. _Sorry_.” Dib wasn’t sure he should be apologizing when the alien was squeezing his kidneys.

“Do you want to do the fuck to me again?” Zim asked clinically, not coyly.

“I do,” Dib admitted. He pondered the photograph that had caused this whole mess, wondering if he should ask about the blood he’d seen on Zim’s legs. Instead, he tried, “I really think we should try some lube next time.”

“Next time?” Zim asked, at last betraying his amusement while withdrawing a hand that clutched an unidentifiable chunk of dark red organ tissue. “You seriously want to do that again? All that—that rutting, and that sweating?”

“Was it good for you at _all_?” Dib asked, at least grateful for an opportunity to soothe another aspect of his guilt.

Zim pondered it for a moment, setting the dripping organ in a dish on his work table. He peered into Dib’s open abdomen, avoiding his gaze.

“It was not _un_pleasant,” he admitted shyly.

“Did you come?”

“Come where?”

“I knew you were gonna say that!” Dib was too weak to properly laugh about it. Raspy breaths escaped him while a crusty smile tried to settle on his anaesthetized face. “Did you have an orgasm, I mean.” He explained when he was done trying to laugh. “That thing that happened when you had your cock in my throat—was that an orgasm? What’s it like for your people? Do you even know? Huh??”

“Ask me more questions about my favorite color.” Zim cut him off sharply. “I’ve made my decision now and I will tell you all you want to know.”

“Fine. What’s your favorite color?”

Zim yanked something out of Dib’s squelching guts. He held an oozing organ dripping with yellow-green bile.

“What would you call _this_ color?”

“Yeah, okay. I should’ve seen that coming.”

The alien continued to poke around, still avoiding Dib’s gaze.

“Ask another question!” he prompted.

“Really? Okay… I don’t think you’d have a favorite animal or a favorite season.” Did exhausted the few icebreaker topics he knew. “I don’t know. What’s the best and worst days of your life?”

Zim shot him a puzzled glance.

“Under what criteria? Am I basing this off of casualty numbers, or by the amount of territory acquired?”

“It’s not that complicated. Just tell me a little story from your life that you can come up with on the fly,” Dib sighed. 

He wracked his groggy brain for his most important memories.

“Let me give you an idea of what I mean. The best day of my life was probably the day Gaz was ‘born.’ I was so little, but I remember it really well. My Dad let me hold her and I remember being so excited to be a brother. I looked at that dumb little baby in my lap and I loved her so much.” He smiled weakly at the joyful memory.

A moment pressed on in silence, punctuated by the mechanical pulsing of the machines he was connected to.

“Your familial _love_ experiences sicken me,” Zim said finally. “Tell me what day was the worst for you so I can laugh at your suffering.”

“That’s easy,” Dib said. “The day I was committed.”

Zim stopped squishing his organs around but did not reply, so he tried to elaborate.

“I hadn’t slept in a week. I found some really good conspiracy message boards and stayed up for _days_ reading every thread. I was already freaking out pretty bad before I left the apartment that day. I shouldn’t have gone to class. I still don’t know why I did.”

He had not spoken the full truth of it to anyone, not even to Gaz.

“I thought I heard someone whisper something to me about alien abductions. I just started hearing people whispering about things like that. Stuff that I’d been reading about. I thought they were all taunting me. Pretty soon they actually were, cuz I was freaking out. Everybody had their phones out… I lost my shit all the way to the hospital. The nurses kept picking on me. They asked me if I thought the government was turning frogs gay or something. Everyone just kept laughing at me. I was so fucking scared. Nobody ever took me seriously the whole time.”

He shook his head at the painful memories. He didn’t need to see the ECG machine to know his anxiety was creeping back from reliving those moments.

“Sorry. I guess I haven’t been able to talk about it since it happened.”

Failing to live up to his promise, Zim did not laugh at Dib’s suffering.

“What about you?” Dib tried after a long stretch of solemn silence and mechanical pulsing.

“Eh?” Zim’s head had tipped forward over his work.

“What was the best day of your life?” Dib asked, trying to move beyond the horror he’d spoken aloud. “Is that even a thing for your people?”

“There have been many proud days for me.” Zim said like it was obvious. He nodded to himself. “Victories in battle. Advancements in the Armada’s forces. Successes by my peers and subordinates. My proudest day was the Great Inauguration, when I watched two of my lifelong friends accept their final encoding to become our people’s Tallest.” A shuffle under his surgical cap suggested the reverent movement of antennae. Indeed, the memory seemed to inspire a moment’s peace for him.

“I think I understand,” Dib tried. “That sounds pretty cool, especially if they were your friends.”

Zim shrugged and lifted a long stretch of intestines out of Dib’s abdomen, pulling out several feet of it like party streamers.

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me about the worst day of your life,” Dib cringed watching his guts unravel like twine. Now he was sure he could feel the movement inside of him. Zim’s eyes took on a distant, cold look. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to—,”

“It was the day I was re-encoded.” His voice was low and sharp as he cut off Dib’s apologizing. The air seemed to drain from the room.

Zim leaned forward over the table. Blood dripped off his gloved fingertips. He seemed frozen in the recollection, staring into an unknown distance at some difficult memory that Dib couldn’t fathom.

“I’m sorry if I made you think about something you didn’t want to.”

“I think about it every moment of every day. As punishment, I am never permitted to forget.” Zim’s voice was hauntingly calm. “My life now is a reminder of the humiliation that I brought onto myself and my people. It is the only reason I am still alive.”

Dib cringed. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

“Even as we speak, the nerve endings in my body are being prickled with pain just to remind me that I’m out of compliance for discussing the matter with an outsider.”

“Then stop telling me about it!” Dib begged.

Zim’s shoulders moved, his petite frame shaking with a building laughter. Hysteria overcame him and he howled, throwing back his head and scream-cackling at something that Dib failed to find funny.

“That was interesting, but I think I’m tired of this _talking_.” He sighed several minutes later when he finally composed himself. Giving Dib’s liver a wet pat, he at last met his subject’s eyes. “I’ve enjoyed touching you all over your moist and squishy insides, my Love-Pig Dib-human. But now I have work to do.”

He turned and barked an order.

“GIR! Bring me the reciprocating saw!”

The little sentry robot appeared beside the alien, wielding a large and horrifying power tool.

“Now what are you doing?” Dib wailed.

Zim fingered the toothed blade. “Your chest bones are too solid to crack cleanly with my manual tools,” he explained. “I want to see the rest of you now.”

Dib’s tears returned. Snot clogged his breathing tube. Zim grumbled at the readouts on the equipment.

“If you won’t stop being distressed during this next procedure, I’ll have to sedate you,” Zim warned.

“Sedate me!” Dib moaned.

“Ugh, _fine_! You’re gonna miss the best part.” Zim set aside the saw and returned with the plastic face mask. His voice was soft as he arranged it on Dib’s face. “I was excited to do this with you…”

The most recent days of Dib’s life were becoming cylindrical, spiraling in a repetitive loop that ebbed and flowed as rhythmically as his life in the psych ward.

He reflected on the deja vu as he slowly gained consciousness on a moving bus once again. Sure enough, he found Zim sitting beside him as soon as he was coherent enough to turn his head.

He blinked at the contacts. Zim blinked back. The bus rocked them gently as it followed traffic.

“We have to stop doing this.” Dib said softly, clutching his tender stomach. He could feel layers of bandage and gauze under his mysteriously clean MacMeatie’s shirt.

“You don’t want to talk about special colors?” Zim sounded almost vulnerable. “You don’t want to do the fuck to me?”

“I _want_ to date you.” Dib’s voice was a strained, sick whisper. He tried to sit up straight and pain shot down his chest and stomach. “Ow…”

“I’d offer you something for that, but I don’t imagine you’d want it.” Zim said coldly.

“I _don’t_ want to keep doing things with you that require me to be sedated,” Dib said. He blinked at the fog making his vision hazy and his head heavy. “I don’t mind if you hurt me. I just don’t like the drugs.”

“I see.” Zim said. “I will not put any more chemicals in your body that you don’t ask for.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve already completed all my necessary alterations anyway.” Zim nodded to himself.

“How many eggs this time?” Dib rolled his eyes, decidedly not falling for Zim’s tricks again.

Zim chuckled and for a moment it was like they were two old friends casually picking on each other. A black glove came to rest on Dib’s knee. The man admitted to himself that he adored the gesture despite everything awful Zim had ever done to him.

“You might not be able to understand this, but there are things that are as enjoyable to me as the come-orgasm that you were so worried about.” Zim explained. “Last night was one of those experiences for me.”

“Well…” Dib remembered the heavy subjects their conversation had fallen onto. Dib doubted he would have heard so many of Zim’s secrets under any other circumstance. “I’m glad it was good for you, too,” he said at last.

“You belong to Zim.” Zim said flatly. “You are my most superior specimen.”

“So, it’s official?” Dib blushed even as a new wave of pain blossomed over his abdomen.

“Yes. I put my name on all of your squishy, disgusting organs.”

Dib blushed and pressed fingertips against his gauze-covered belly, as if he could somehow feel what Zim described.

Bizarrely, despite everything, his anxiety was finally gone, at least for the moment. It could’ve just been the last of the sedatives wearing off, but somehow Zim’s latest creepy claim made him feel almost _calm_.

Being something that Zim saw as a possession was better than being something he saw as an obstacle.   


Not to mention that he couldn’t wait to sleep with the invader again. Even long before they’d started having sex, Dib had wished he could get Zim undressed. He’d yearned to explore an alien’s body even before Zim had come to their skool. He’d poured over autopsy films as an adolescent, blushing and sweating before he understood his body’s reaction to the videos of the sad aliens.

He’d spent many nights crawling out onto the roof to cool down, staring at the sky, promising himself that somehow he’d find a way to have a part in it.

Dib moved a tired hand to rest over the one Zim had placed on his knee. The alien looked to him quickly, trying to gauge a perceived threat behind the gesture. When none was found, he slowly moved to retrieve Dib’s phone from a pocket.

“The Dib-sister has been persistently attempting to make contact,” Zim said, pointing to a recent missed call notification.

Dib tried not to snatch it away, but he couldn’t help his frantic reaction.

“I have to call her back.” Dib already had the number dialing. “I’m sorry, Zim, this is really important.”

“I understand that family has a certain importance in your planet’s culture.” Zim shrugged. “This is my stop, anyway.”

The phone rang in Dib’s ear while Zim reached in front of him to pull the cord. The bus rolled to a stop. Zim’s hand rested on Dib’s shoulder and he leaned in close to the man’s ear.

_“What’s going on? Where are you?”_ Gaz’s voice said into his other ear.

“Do not attempt to alter the implant,” Zim whispered, green lips grazing Dib’s skin.

“Yeah, okay.” Dib nodded and offered Zim a thumbs-up. “Gaz, I’m fine, I’m on the bus.”

Zim didn’t acknowledge him again. It was not until he was gone and the bus was pulling away before he registered what the alien said.

_“Where have you been?”_

“I was with Zim.” He prodded at the bandages, pressing as hard as he could stand to, searching for something under the surface.

“_Why did you leave me such a creepy voicemail?”_

“Look, I need you to get Dad’s equipment fired up.” He said, stress building. Suddenly he found himself hoping that Zim had left something as simple as eggs in him.

_“Ask him yourself,” _she said grimly. “_He’s going to be home tonight.”_

“Did you call him?” Dib demanded. The last argument he’d had with his father resurfaced in his mind, dredging up all the rest of their disagreements, too. Now he had a fresh assortment of new things for his dad to gently disapprove of.

Not that he could think too heavily on it. He stopped prodding when he found a hard object buried somewhere under a spot of tender skin on his chest.

An implant.

_“I almost called him when I got your voicemail.”_ Gaz said. “_Dad wants to talk to you about your upcoming appointment with your therapist.”_

“I don’t have an appointment _or_ a therapist.”

_“Yeah? Try telling him that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 9 summary:  
Dib wakes up in Zim’s lab, prepped for abdominal surgery. Zim is excitable and gets mad when he finds out that Dib has a fast food job. Sedated Dib agrees to proceeding with the surgery and Zim digs in. Zim confronts Dib about the nonconsensual photo, then he takes pictures of Dib’s surgery with his own phone. Descriptive surgery scene with unrealistic amount of dialogue. Heavy infodrop from Zim during unreasonable dialogue scenes.   
Dib gets put out again. He comes to on the bus with Zim. Dib figures out that Zim has given him an implant…


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 10 notes:  
This chapter features more of the reckless bad decision-making which you’ve come to expect from this fic.

“You _let_ him do this?”

Gaz’s voice betrayed her horror as she watched her brother peel back several layers of bandages.

Dib sucked in a sharp breath at the swollen stitches down his chest and belly.

“I guess we are moving pretty fast. He hasn’t even taken me to dinner yet.” he said tiredly. She did not laugh at the joke.

He clutched the wet gauze and gingerly poked at the tender area under his left pec. Something firm, flat, and rectangular lurked below the surface of his skin.

“Okay. I think I’m ready to look.”

Gaz handed him his x-ray headset.

Dib swallowed dryly and turned it on. The object in his chest was a little box with blinking lights on the front— an accessible data hub for a larger object deeper within. Tubes and wires splayed grotesquely in the center of his chest, connecting to his lungs and arteries, filling an empty space where his heart should have been.

“That bad?” Gaz prompted when he groaned aloud.

“_Look_.”

“Just tell me,” she held up a hand in refusal of the offered goggles.

Saying it aloud made his voice crack.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat when stress threatened to make him sob. “So, he took my heart out.”

“And what, gave you an artificial one?”

“Looks like it.”

“What happens if you mess with it?”

“I didn’t ask.” Dib remembered his quick dismissal of the alien on the bus and wished he would’ve spent a little more time talking to him.

“_Great_. You still wanna show Dad?”

“He’ll just think it’s some sort of weird self-harm,” Dib rolled his eyes. The wounds weren’t weeping fluid, so he pulled his shirt down to get the unnerving visuals out of sight. It didn’t seem as bad when he wasn’t looking directly at it.

“I _was_ glad to see you actually dating someone, you know, who isn’t a stranger on the internet?” Gaz said. “But… you _really_ gave him permission to do that?”

“Yeah. I don’t think he can get off the normal way,” Dib felt like he should apologize. “I mean, no, _technically_ I didn’t tell him he could take my heart out. But I also didn’t explicitly tell him he couldn’t. And, I mean, it’s Zim.”

Despite the horror of the situation, he had yet to slip into the petrifying clutches of anxiety again. Even as he rubbed the tender spot and imagined the little blinking lights, the infernal panicking had not resurfaced. Maybe it was the last of the psych meds interacting with the leftover anesthesia. Or maybe the artificial heart had something to do with it.

To Zim’s credit, all the rest of his guts seemed to be in pretty much the right places. His sutures were meticulously straight; small punctures and fine cuts would leave minimal scars. Dib knew the alien would expect his gratitude for the effort.

“Can I ask you something?” Gaz interrupted his pondering. “Are you _enjoying_ all this?”

“…yeah.” Dib nodded. He could not meet her eyes. It had been easier to accept humiliation a month ago when he’d been talking to her during visitation, sedated and wearing nothing but orange scrubs and yellow socks. “I guess that’s fucked up, huh?”

“A little bit.” There was only patient curiosity in her voice, not judgement. “What do you get out of it?”

“I mean, he’s hot! …in a weird way. I guess.” Dib admitted it to himself as much as to his sister. “The surgery thing sucks. But other than that, he’s pretty much the finest alien I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some really sexy aliens on the internet.”

“I’m sure you have.” She said, obviously trying to not roll her eyes.

“I think operating on me turned him on. I like observing what he’s going through. I like participating.” he continued to pontificate. “I like being part of his world without forcing my way in.”

“I figured as much.” Gaz said. “When we were kids, I knew that for all your fighting with him, deep down inside you just wanted to be his friend. You hated him because you were mad that the first real alien you met turned out to be an asshole.”

“Maybe.” He acknowledged, not ready to admit the accuracy of her observation.

“Are you going to tell Dad about it when he gets home tonight?”

“I was hoping he’d be asleep by the time I got off work.”

“You are _not_ going to work like this!” Gaz snapped, incredulous. “Seriously? You _are_ crazy!”

“I already missed class again. That’s twice in this semester.” Dib argued. “I’m not going to lose my job, too.”

“Oh, my god, you’re serious. You’re taking this too far just to avoid Dad.”

“Maybe.” He shuffled stiffly around his room, gathering his things for work.

“Don’t expect me to cover for you when he finds out how impulsive and _weird_ you’ve been acting.”

Dib ignored her until she rolled her eyes and stalked back to her own room. He sat on the floor and dug through another suitcase to find a clean pair of socks. The MacMeatie’s shirt had been returned to him cleaner than when he’d first gotten it. His phone was also charged, and his glasses were cleaned and tightened.

Zim’s work was good, when he could focus on doing it well. Dib pondered what the alien admitted to him the night before. Perhaps Zim was not so incompetent after all. He wondered how much of the chronic suffering kept him from successfully destroying the planet.

He wondered all the way to the bus stop. When he caught his bus and found his seat, he turned his back to the window and opened up his camera roll.

Zim had taken dozens of pictures with Dib’s phone—before, during, and after the surgery. He’d documented his entire process. The beginning of the photoshoot was difficult to look at. Dib scrolled through photos of his unconscious body being intubated, catheterized. Sanitized. Shaved. Timestamps on the photos suggested that a lot of effort and patience had been put into doing it all correctly.

Then came the photos that Dib recognized. His “selfie” with Zim during the waking surgery shamed him deeply. There were multiple shots of his split chest cavity that must’ve been taken while he was sedated again. Purple gloves carefully threaded tubes and diodes through his arteries while the implant was installed. Then there were a few shots of his ribs being grafted back together with unrecognizable alien tools.

The framing and angles reminded him of the alien autopsy videos he’d watched over the years. Zim must’ve watched a few of them too, judging by the intention put into photography.

He’d made his point. Dib would never harass him with real autopsy pictures ever again.

Dib swiped one more time. There was one last picture taken that night. Dib’s breath caught in his throat to see it.

There was a lot to unpack in this one.

The bloodied purple surgical gown was lifted. Zim sprawled on the operating table, still wearing the splattered face mask, but with a single glove removed. Long, segmented fingers plunged between spread legs. Tired pink eyes stared fearlessly into the camera.

Dib daydreamed about the lurid picture when he walked into MacMeatie’s that day. The wall of stink greeted him, oil-infused steam coating his sore lungs. There was nothing that could be done for the sweaty, stagnant air. The cooks that had been there all day glanced at him warily.

Oblivious to the exhaustion and suffering Dib had been through the previous night, Torque patted Dib on the back while he cheerfully explained all the physically intensive tasks he’d saved for the new hire.

“Since you were so worried about getting enough hours,” Torque said while he showed Dib the heavy frozen freight the man was to organize. “You’ll probably be here at least forty-five minutes extra tonight.”

“Thanks for thinking of me…” Dib tried to sound enthusiastic as he imagined himself trying to lift even one of the stacked boxes.

“You _sure_ you’re okay?” Torque asked for the third time before he left Dib to it. “You look like you had a wild night.”

“Yeah, I stayed out a little too late.” Dib had seen his reflection before he’d left the house that day. Considering that he’d been anaesthetized, operated on, and had his heart removed, he thought the clammy, sallow look about him barely reflected how terrible he actually felt.

He sat down on a box of fries when Torque left him alone in the freezer. He’d been offered the use of an oversized communal parka, but he found it was easier to huddle there among the ice in just his t-shirt.

This was bad. He knew he should’ve listened to Gaz and called out sick, but he couldn’t admit that what had happened the night before was too much for him to handle.

Even with his heart literally ripped from his chest, Dib wanted more. Now that he had a foot in Zim’s door, he fully intended on pushing in further. He’d spent years secretly wishing he could get closer to Zim, wishing that he could study the alien up close and personal.

More importantly he wanted the satisfaction of being solvent for once. His inevitable meeting with his father would be worse if he came home early from his stupid fast food shift. Nor was he ready to give Zim the satisfaction of seeing him quit now. He couldn’t lose the job he’d just lost his heart for.

He couldn’t get past the knowledge that a part of him was missing. He rubbed the sore spot again, disturbed most of all by the fact that he’d let it happen. It was now a full week since he’d flushed his meds, and he had the clarity of mind to accept that he’d let Zim do worse to him than stealing his organs if it meant he’d earn more of the alien’s trust.

The pictures were motivation enough. He huddled inside the MacMeatie’s freezer, staring at the photo of Zim gazing into the camera, fingering himself in his blooded surgical garb. What did it _mean_? It almost seemed like a challenge.

If they ever had sex again, he promised himself, he would last long enough to humble the smug alien jerk.

Dib rose to his feet on shaking knees, cracking open the first box the way Torque had shown him. He stacked a few bags of frozen fries, stomping the box flat and opening another. He worked like that for some time.

Eventually, handling the frozen food made his bare hands sting and turn red. Still, he worked without the parka, sweating from the exertion even under the billowing industrial fans. Tunnel vision narrowed and for some time he knew nothing but stacking frozen fries.

When the boxes were all gone, Dib threw his body against the swinging freezer door and burst into the bright, steamy kitchen to announce that he’d finished.

The loud eruption turned heads just as the sudden temperature change hit him with a wave of vertigo.

His head was light, but his body was heavy. He crumpled to his knees on the wet cement floor.

Torque manifested beside him, grabbing his elbow while one of the cooks grabbed the other. The two men helped him to his feet and he swayed pathetically.

“What _happened_ to you?” Torque asked, his voice reflecting shock. He stared at Dib’s chest. Dib glanced down at himself, following the concerned gaze.

The entire front of the MacMeatie’s shirt clung to his chest, soaked with fresh blood.

The sight of it made him dizzy again, arms taut as the two cooks helped him limp to the breakroom.

“I’m fine,” he insisted several times lamely, terrified that the men would make him lift his shirt. Scenes from the psych ward filled his frantic mind. He remembered being made to undress for teams of nurses. A handful of old scars from his younger altercations with Zim looked suspiciously like self-harm, and his history of being sent to multiple skool counselors told enough of a story for them.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Torque insisted when the other cook was sent back to work. The manager sat at the wobbly table next to Dib, who realized too late that he’d practically been laying on it, smearing blood across the surface.

Concerned eyes stared at him. He stewed on the memory of being escorted out of sociology class into an ambulance with locking doors.

“I did some _weird_ stuff last night with this guy I’ve been seeing…” he tried a plausible-sounding explanation, grateful that it was still technically somewhat true. “He’s into some, um, kinky stuff.”

“Makes sense…” Torque cleared his throat and rose from the table, clearly uncomfortable with the whole ordeal. He approached the rows of lockers on the other side of the employee room and opened a door, removing a dumbbell to anxiously lift while he stiffly recited something from his training manual. “So, I don’t really care what you do in your relationship, but you need to make responsible choices when you know you have a shift the next day.”

“I understand.” Dib’s head hung in both shame and exhaustion as he braced himself to get fired. The sutures that had pulled while he worked were throbbing now that he was lucid. Pain fluttered in his chest where he’d been intubated.

“But, good job with all that freight.” Torque at last complimented. He studied the dumbbell in his hand, looking most pacified. “Most people just shove shit anywhere it’ll fit. Thanks for doing it the way I told you.”

Dib could not fathom how anybody could struggle to put fries away correctly, but he’d take what he could get.

“I’m sorry I came in like this today,” he offered pathetically.

“I get it, I’ve been pretty broke before.” Torque said. “When I got out of prison I definitely went to work fucked up a few times.”

“You’ve been to prison? Why?” Dib immediately regretted asking it. “I mean, I’m not judging you.”

Torque laughed. The manager put away his dumbbell and returned to the table.

“Yeah, when I was sixteen I stabbed my dad a couple of times.”

“Oh…” Dib grimaced but tried not to react. It explained why he’d never seen Torque in hi-skool.

“I’m on parole now, cuz he stabbed me first.” Torque explained. “If I’d stabbed him once, I wouldn’t have gotten locked up so long. Self-defense, you know? It was the second stab that got me. But I’ve had a lot of help since then learning to cope with my emotional reactions.”

“I see…” Oddly, Dib could relate. He gazed at Torque, gauging the situation. Then, figuring that he couldn’t screw his day up any worse, he decided to share his secret. “I’ve been locked up too.”

“Really?” now Torque seemed surprised.

“I mean, I didn’t stab anybody.” Saying it aloud incited a certain vulnerability in him, but he did it anyway. He couldn’t be afraid of the truth. If he could go to work with an alien heart implant, he could accept what had happened to him. “I spent some time in a behavioral hospital.”

Torque nodded calmly. “I knew some guys in prison who did both. They all said the hospital was worse.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”

Now Torque was smiling.

“One of those guys used to make me think of you. He’d get all mad and start yelling about how he got abducted by aliens and they did all this _butt stuff_ to him. I used to remember you standing on your desk in Miss Bitters’ class screaming about UFOs and stuff.” He laughed pleasantly to himself as if this was a good memory. “Is that why you got locked up?”

“Yeah, I was thinking about the _very real_ threat of alien invasion and I had a psychotic break in the middle of class.”

“Damn.” Torque offered a sympathetic look.

“Aliens _are_ real.” Dib added assertively.

“Okay, I won’t argue with you,” Torque said. “But I can see where you looked psycho. You used to scare the shit out of me in middle skool when you were tripping. Most people aren’t ready to hear that shit. It scares people, you know?”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

Now Torque laughed again. “Remember in middle skool, you used to pick on that Zib kid all the time?”

“Zim. The _real_ alien.”

“You were so mean to that kid!” Torque snorted. “Remember when you threw a muffin at his face? And then you threw water on him and he got all sick? And then you threw meat at his face?”

Dib wasn’t sure why the memories inspired a feeling of guilt in him. As if somehow it would justify the way he’d treated the alien when he was a child, he decided to share another truth.

“I’m actually dating him now.” As he said it, he poked at his chest where the implant was embedded, and wondered if “dating” was an appropriate term for it.

“No way! That’s so funny. I thought you hated that guy!” Torque laughed again and patted Dib on the shoulder, hard enough to make his glasses slide an inch down his nose. “Look, I was gonna send you home for the rest of the night cuz I don’t want you bleeding on the food, but I’m gonna see if I can get you some time in the dish pit, okay?”

Dib decided that sharing his truth had been a good idea after all. For the rest of the night he manned a sprayer nozzle, laughing and chatting with the rest of the kitchen crew. Presumably Torque had vouched for Dib being “cool,” and they’d easily accepted him on just Torque’s word. For the first time in years, Dib wondered if this was what it felt like to be a normal person. Not that he had a lot of reference.

Even the light duty left Dib exhausted by the end of the night. The bleeding stopped but his shirt was still soaked with dishwater and whatever else oozed out from the sutures. When he was dismissed for the night, he gathered his things, reading a text from Gaz.

_“Don’t take the bus. You’re getting picked up.”_

Dib cringed, thinking about meeting his father in the parking lot, especially now that he’d bled all over his work shirt. Once again he wished he could stay late and postpone an inevitable confrontation. But he’d already pushed his limits at work today. There were only so many secrets he could reveal to make Torque accommodate him.

When he could stall no longer, he hung his head and staggered out the back door of the restaurant.

In the parking lot, he was greeted not by his dad’s car but by a pink spaceship. Zim stood in front of it, arms crossed while he glared through his contacts.

“Oh. Hi…” Dib had to say it was a pleasant surprise despite everything. He hadn’t thought about what he wanted to say to Zim after discovering the implant, but he’d still rather face the alien now than his father.

“The Dib-sister said you would be done with your fry slavery at 10:30. Why did you make me wait outside this revolting place so long?” Zim snapped at him.

Since when had Zim and Gaz been talking?

“I was hanging out with my coworkers,” Dib said both defensively and proudly, struggling to climb into the spaceship with the stiff pain in his abdomen. The seat he was presented with was comically tiny, and he strained to keep his knees straight, trying not to squish his tender stomach.

“You would associate with those pathetic food drones?” Zim asked accusingly as he lowered the transparent glass-like dome and sealed them inside the ship. “You are property of Zim! Outside of this backwoods solar system that actually _means_ something.”

“At least they still wanted to talk to me after I bled through my work shirt.” Dib said, gesturing to the stained fabric clinging to his skin. Now that they were together, he had to speak his mind. “Oh, yeah, by the way—What the fuck did you do with my _heart_, Zim?”

“Hm?” Zim piloted the little ship over the city buildings. They soared over rusted warehouses and dilapidated train yards.

“My _heart_!” Dib repeated, pointing to the sore spot on his chest where he could feel the implant. “You took my heart out and gave me some sort of creepy pacemaker thingy.”

“Oh, _that_,” Zim shrugged casually. “It’s just a little experiment. I wanted to see if you could regain some endurance with better equipment.”

“You _took_ my _heart_ out,” Dib’s voice cracked repeating it once more.

“So?”

“So, I want it back!”

“The thing I fitted you with will last twice as long as your pathetic organic cardiac muscle,” Zim defended. “Anyway, I worked _really_ hard putting it in! I even read the instructions first.”

“I want my heart back,” Dib said again, unnerved by how casual Zim was about it all. “As soon as I’m healed enough to get cut open again, I want you to take this thing out and put my real heart back where you found it.”

Zim turned away from his driving for a moment. Sincere contact-covered eyes studied him. He seemed to ponder something before speaking again.

“I can’t do that,” he said softly.

“Why not?!”

Now Zim turned back to the ‘road.’

“I, eh, don’t have it anymore.”

“You _lost_ it?”

“No, GIR took it out of cold storage.”

“Your robot? Why?”

“He needed to make room?” Zim surmised. “Something about a buy one-get one sale on squeezey bottles of mayonnaise?”

Dib groaned, too frustrated to find words. Working all night had distracted him from the horror of what had happened. Now it was all too real. He rubbed frantically at the implant and fought against the frightened tears welling in his eyes. He lost the battle and a fat one rolled down his cheek. The surgery wounds hurt badly but he still hugged his knees and cried softly.

“This really bothers you,” Zim observed coldly.

“No shit, Zim!” Dib wailed.

“Why?” Zim asked. “You said I may do as I please with your body-shell.”

“I didn’t think you were going to take my heart out and turn me into a horrible cyborg!”

“You are _improved_, not horrible,” Zim defended. Before Dib could scream at him some more, he added, “I will repay my debt to you, Love-Pig.”

Dib was too vulnerable in that moment to enjoy the pet name.

“And just how do you plan on doing that?” he barked with a strained voice. “You’re gonna get me a new heart?”

“Yes.” Zim said flatly. “I’ll get you many new hearts. Hundreds of them. Big ones, small ones. As many as you want!”

“I only want one.” Dib cut him off.

Zim shrugged. “Fine. Settle.”

“So, Gaz put you up to this?” At last Dib acknowledged that he was getting a ride home from work in an alien spaceship. Despite everything, it was admittedly hard to stay mad while he watched the city pass by beneath them.

“The Dib-sister is more persuasive than most humans,” Zim clutched the ship’s controls and shivered at the memory of whatever threat had been made to him.

“So the big, strong Irken soldier is afraid of a little hi-skool girl?” Dib teased.

“Aren’t _you_?” Zim glanced at him warily.

“I’m terrified of her,” Dib admitted. “But lately I’m a lot more worried about what my dad can do to me.” When Zim didn’t respond, he added, “I keep thinking about getting committed again.”

The ship’s momentum slowed over a neighborhood and Dib realized the short trip had come to an end. Zim lowered the ship into the street, crushing two parked cars in the process.

As the glass dome lifted, Zim offered a hand to help Dib climb out. It was a surprising gesture from him—Dib knew better than to acknowledge the kindness.

“Do you want to come in?” Dib asked instead. He couldn’t believe he was inviting his former mortal enemy in after getting a ride from him. He’d forgiven him too quickly.

“Will my presence prevent the Dib-father from doing the committing to you again?” Zim asked.

“Maybe.”

Zim shrugged and secured the ship, covering it with a giant tarp that made it look like an enormous, conspicuous pink piggy.

“You do not belong to the Dib-father, to the frylord, nor to any doctor,” Zim said. “You are property of Zim.”

Dib clutched his implant and wondered how much longer he’d find that comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 10 summary:  
Gaz talks to Dib while they investigate his surgical wounds.  
Dib looks at his phone and finds pictures Zim took during his surgery, including a sexy masturbatory post-surgery picture.  
Dib goes to work and is predictably very unwell. He works too hard and bleeds out through his work shirt. While they talk, Torque admits he’s been to prison, so Dib trusts him pretty instantaneously and comes out about being institutionalized.  
Zim picks Dib up from work and Dib confronts him about his heart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 11 notes:  
Um so basically the “original” content of this fic was supposed to be pretty much just the first 4 chapters. So in order to expand the story a little bit, the next few chapters might be infodrop-y and uneventful I guess.
> 
> Anyway if you’ve been following this fic, giving feedback, etc, I really appreciate you. Thank you.

For once in his life, Dib was glad his father was preoccupied with work. The professor fiddled with a communication device on his wrist while he half-paid attention to Zim’s introduction.

“Yes, I remember the little international boy from middle skool,” Membrane nodded pleasantly while he took a call from the lab. “I’m relieved to hear you’re spending time with old friends.”

“He’s more than my friend,” Dib met his sister’s eyes as he spoke. “You see, Dad, Zim _stole my heart_.”

Gaz groaned and rolled her eyes at the stupid joke.

Membrane nodded approvingly. “Son, while I’m sure you’re aware that ‘_love’_ is just a series of chemical reactions in the hypothalamus, I’m glad to hear that you’re pursuing a relationship with someone outside of the internet.”

“Thanks…?” Dib decided to stop caring when the professor became focused on the screaming and wailing alarm sounds coming from his phone. By now he’d grown to expect his father’s absence—it was more familiar than his attention.

Dib leaned in and whispered to Gaz while he had the chance.

“When did you and Zim start talking?” he hissed to her. “How did you even get in contact with him?”

“He’s on Big Social Media,” Gaz said matter-of-factly. “Maybe you should come out from that rock you live under and get an account, too.”

“You _know_ I was sworn to silence after my falling-out with The Swollen Eyeball.” He argued.

“You’re _so_ weird. Nobody from that old message board is going to track you down and ‘get’ you.” She scoffed.

“Goes to show how little you know about the reach of occult magic.” He scoffed back. “All those guys would need to hex me for life is _one_ picture of me—,”

“Attention family:” Membrane’s voice boomed over the hushed exchange. “Unfortunately something’s come up at the lab and my time with you this evening will be cut short.”

“Oh, _darn_.” Dib smirked until Gaz poked him in his tender ribs.

“Son, what’s this I hear about a job?” Membrane turned to his eldest with a degree of sincere interest.

Dib glared back at Gaz now. He hadn’t realized he was living with an informant. How much was she reporting back to their father?

“I am leaving now!” Zim announced loudly during the pause. The alien had sulked in the doorway silently for most of the interaction.

“Will you stay? Just for another minute?” Dib insisted, holding his aching guts. He still had questions that needed answers. “Please?”

“Make it quick!” The alien shuddered at the familial scene one last time before bolting out the door.

“The job is only 25 hours a week,” Dib defended when he faced his father again. “It’s downtown on the way home from skool and they’re accommodating my schedule.”

Membrane studied the dried blood on the front of Dib’s shirt but then shrugged dismissively like he’d decided it was gravy or something.

“You don’t have to convince me,” his father said, surprisingly. “As long as you’re doing well in skool, you should absolutely focus on going out and being productive.”

“Really?” Dib asked, suspicious. As with so many things these days, this was way too easy. There was no mistaking that his shirt was soiled with blood. How could Membrane not notice that? Maybe his father’s blind rationalizations were why Dib had managed to avoid hospitalization until his twenties. He could admit that he probably should’ve been sent to more counselors than just the ones at skool.

“Son… you can do anything you put your mind to now that you’ve come out of treatment.” Membrane said with confidence. “I saw your prescription on your release papers. Did I ever tell you that I used to work with the doctor who invented Supressa?”

“Oh. Well. Small world…” Dib stifled the shiver that crept down his spine, and tried to chuckle instead of gulping.

“Son, as long as you stick to your medication and follow up with your counselor, I’m quite sure you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah…”

“You _are_ taking your medication and following up with your counselor, right?”

“Well, I—,”

Dib made the mistake of meeting the eyes behind the dark lenses.

His father’s gaze had always disquieted him. It was like staring at his own reflection and seeing only the least appealing aspects of himself looking back. It was not the first time he’d wondered why the scientist had chosen to raise clones of himself as his children. Regardless, Dib had been bothered since puberty that he was slowly growing into an uncanny copy of the man’s DNA.

When he met his father’s gaze he was torn between folding in on himself and cowering, and rising up to challenge the man who’d made the majority of his decisions for the last month. He could not live in fear the rest of his life—he would not be reduced to the version of himself that his father’d enthusiastically had locked away.

“I didn’t really get along with that counselor so, uh, I’m researching some other places in town…” he lied lamely.

“I see.” Membrane coldly analyzed the information. A brilliant idea came to him. “You know, I still have Dr. Ominous’ number. She retired after she invented Supressa, and she runs a private practice in the next town over. I should give her a call and see if she can fit you in.”

“Well—,”

“Unless you’d have an objection to that.” Eyes that looked exactly like Dib’s squinted at him behind dark goggles.

“I think Dib’s doing great,” Gaz interrupted quickly. She forced a grimace of a smile for them when they looked at her curiously. “Especially since he’s finally accepted that he’s _always_ had a crush on Zim.” Dib coughed and scowled at her.

“I haven’t _always_ had a crush on him…” he mumbled softly, sure that neither of them heard nor cared.

Gaz evened the score for the joke earlier as she continued. “Because of Zim, Dib’s done a lot of _looking into_ himself lately. And Zim’s really put a lot of stuff into him, too. A lot of _faith_, I mean. Faith, not stuff.”

She flashed Dib a sharp glance. She would not forget this favor.

Luckily, Membrane soon took another emergency call from the lab. With the brief distraction, Dib dashed outside in the hopes that Zim hadn’t bailed yet.

To his relief, the alien leaned against the piggy-ship, arms crossed coolly while he tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed how much time had passed.

“What do you want _now_? Why are you keeping me from my important work?” Zim barked.

“The least you can do is look at this!” Dib lifted his stained MacMeatie’s shirt. “You have no idea what I’ve been through in the last five hours.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually be stupid enough to return to that greasy meat dungeon in your condition.” Zim admitted, frowning while he inspected the damage. “I underestimated your ignorance. You’ve undone some really nice stitches.”

“How soon can you fix this?” Dib demanded.

“I can clean it up tonight…” Zim said softly.

“I mean my _heart_!”

“Well… I’ll have to find replacement parts,” Zim explained. “That could take a while. It has to match all your blood types and whatever. Even then, you’ll have to be completely healed so your ridiculous antibodies don’t reject the new organ.” Grumbling under his breath, he rolled his eyes and added, “…you _should_ just stick with the pacemaker. It’s a really high-quality Vortian model. It took a lot to get it shipped out here.”

“What’s going to happen to me in the meantime?” Dib ignored the muttering.

“You’ll heal. Hopefully.” Zim shrugged. “_If_ you’re smart enough to relax and let your body-shell regenerate for a few weeks. Then, you’ll probably feel better than you ever did before.”

“You owe me.” Dib said. Now that he’d gone as far as to introduce the alien to his father as a current romantic partner, he needed answers now to a different set of questions. “Will you tell me one thing at least? What’s the deal with that picture?”

“Hm. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“The picture you took on my phone after you were done ripping my heart out.” He finally just pulled his phone out to show rather than tell. Now Dib was the one holding out a screen accusingly. “See? Real cute.”

“Are you _confused_?” Zim scoffed and dismissively pushed the phone away. “Does your confusion makes you _nervous_? Good! Your fearful ignorance amuses me.”

“Whatever.” Dib shoved the phone back in his face. “Admit it. You like having sex like a human, don’t you?”

Zim laughed. “You truly are delusional.”

“What do you plan on doing with me while I heal, then?” Dib asked slyly. “You’ll get bored without some other way to torment me.”

The teasing was not appreciated.

“If I _really_ wanted to manipulate you,” Zim’s voice lowered and became serious. He pointed to the house where Gaz and his father waited inside. “I would take them away from you, and I would torture them in front of you until you begged for my mercy, and then I would bend you to my will like… something… bendy.”

“See, that’s not a good way to talk to someone you want to fuck again,” Dib grinned at Zim’s livid expression. “My species doesn’t think it’s sexy, at least.”

“Why should I stand here and be insulted by you, you revolting monkey?”

“I’m not insulting you, I’m saying that I want to spend more time with you. But you should be a little more _normal_ about it.” Dib tried to reach out for Zim’s hand but the alien recoiled. “Oh, come on! See, this is what I mean!”

“Why would you want to pursue _me_ as a sexual partner?” Zim asked sincerely, gesturing to himself. “I’m not a breeding drone. It’s not my function. There is little I can do for you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“It doesn’t matter that I’m no longer a soldier. I’ve been sterile since I was hatched.” Zim continued.

“I know. You’re from a brutal, genetically engineered society, I get it.” Dib prompted.

“And you find these inadequacies _appealing_? My body is hardly compatible with yours.”

“Just as long as you’re willing to put up with my weaknesses too.” Dib said, firmly affirmative.

Zim shuffled, wringing gloved hands. He glanced around uncomfortably. Dib watched the contacts’ pupils expand and contract like human eyes. This many years later he still had no idea how the technology worked. Regardless, there was still an unnatural movement to them. Mechanical pupils widened as Zim continued to fret.

“Look,” Dib offered a friendly smile. “I’m getting paid on Thursday, and I have Friday off. Do you want to go out with me after skool that day?”

Something painful tightened in Dib’s abdomen and he wondered why he would want to ask someone like Zim on a _date_. Then he remembered the seductive bug-like chirruping in his ear when he’d fucked him, and he realized he was far from being done here. He was infatuated with the evil alien and there was nothing he could do about it. No amount of horrifying torture-surgery could make him change his mind.

“Such courting practices seem inefficient, especially as you’ve already penetrated me.” Zim said of the date. “Isn’t that the final goal of human breeding?”

“I promise it’ll be fun!” Dib insisted, as if he had any real experiences to reference. “I’ll make it worth your trouble. Whatever you want, you name it.”

“Hm?” Zim perked up. “Very well. I will do the ‘go out’ ritual if you will help me locate your planetary government’s interstellar defense plans and, if necessary, disarm any weapons grids which would inconvenience the Armada.”

“Maybe,” Dib said, grinning. “What I meant was, I want to make you feel good. I want to play with you like you were doing in that picture you took for me.” He laughed. “Did you get all _thirsty_ after you put all my guts back inside me?”

“Not at all! I had access to drinking water the entire time.” Zim avoided his gaze and tugged the piggy tarp off of his ship.

Dib caught himself nearly baring his teeth now. “Were you thinking about getting fucked again? Huh? Thinking about taking this dick again? Huh? _Huh_?”

Zim grimaced and pointed to the house. “Don’t you have a familial obligation?” Activity inside suggested that Membrane was about to return to work. Dib wished he could just hide out there in the front yard until his father was gone. He already owed Gaz for sticking up for him, and he didn’t want to hear about her getting ditched.

He glanced back to Zim. The alien was hunched over in a way that Dib recognized from years of harassing him daily, like he was bracing to have a spoonful of beans shoved in his face or a muffin launched at his head. Had he been the one to make him react like that?

Zim flinched when he realized he was being stared at. “Go away!” he shouted, pointing frantically at the house.

“Hey! Are we on for Friday?” Dib called back on his way to the door.

“What?” Zim stopped halfway through closing the dome on his ship and sealing himself inside.

“Friday? Are we on for a date?”

“What?”

“A date on—?”

“_What_?” Then the dome slammed closed. The ship was already halfway off the ground by the time Dib called back to him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 11 summary:  
Dib has an unexpectedly smooth interaction with his father, although he gets called out on not following up with a therapist. Turns out Membrane knows the doc who created the “Supressa” drug from Chapter 5 and wants to make Dib an appointment.  
Later Dib argues with Zim a little bit about the heart implant, etc., creeps him out & asks him on a date. A short and (boring imo) chapter


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 12 notes:  
As always, thank you all for the ongoing support. 
> 
> It’s another dialogue-heavy chapter but if you’re into wound care and Zim having a melodramatic backstory then you’re in luck.

Another nightmare seized him that evening. Dib hadn’t dreamt like this since before he’d gone into the hospital. The meds had left him dreamless for a month. Now, just over a week after flushing the last of his pills, the nightmare shook him in a way he wasn’t ready to address.

At first he saw the spaceship he’d been on as a child. He felt those mysterious hands on him, turning his rigid body over, prodding at muscles and tendons. Being anaesthetized and handled by Zim must’ve shaken loose some kinetic memories, and his subconscious tormented him with the agonizing imagery.

The difference this time was that he could see their faces—his subconscious memory supplied him with images of the doctors and nurses that forced him to undress and show off his scars. The bright lights and stark walls shifted until they became the cell-like room he’d been locked away in for the first 72 hours of his psychiatric torment.

When he woke up in his old bedroom, he tried to stay calm and rational. A parched tongue licked dry lips and he sat up in bed, searching for water frantically without his glasses.

Movement startled him. A pair of bulging pink eyes stared at him from the foot of his bed.

If his throat hadn’t been so dry he might’ve screamed. Of course he recognized who the uncanny gaze belonged to, but the sight of the alien so soon after coming out of the terrible dream jarred him from the peaceful feeling he’d had earlier.

“What are you doing here?” he wheezed at Zim, who gawked at him from the awkward distance. “You really scared me, you jerk!”

“Why do humans sleep so often if it torment you so badly?” Zim pondered aloud.

Dib tried not to wonder how long the alien had been watching him sleep.

“I underestimated the implant I gave you,” Zim continued. “You should’ve been too weak to return to your fry slavery so soon. Now I’ll have to fix whatever you’ve done to yourself. Hopefully you haven’t ruined my hard work.”

“You could’ve told me you were coming back! Or you could’ve just _stayed_ earlier.” Dib prodded at the implant, concluding that it was responsible for his rapid recovery. “What did you put in me?”

Zim ignored him, hoisting a metal case he’d been clutching. The alien crept to the side of Dib’s bed, shoving him onto his back again with that surprising strength.

“_Now_ what are you doing?” Dib wrestled against Zim’s grasp.

“Remove this!” Zim tugged at his t-shirt. “I will humor you and let you remain conscious while I work. Don’t make me regret that decision!”

Dib obliged. As he undressed, he wondered if he was really awake, or if this was just a twisted new aspect of the awful dreams cropping up since he’d flushed the meds.

Gloved claw-hands on his skin made him shiver. This was no dream. Even the clinical touch inspired an excitement in him. So soon after being cut open like a lab rat, he was already half-hard.

If Zim noticed his erection, he didn’t acknowledge it. Pink eyes scanned the row of stitches down Dib’s chest. He poked at a part of it that was swollen and red. Dib flinched.

“You got fry-oil-goo in this!” Zim scolded. “Why would you remove your bandages before entering that contaminated grease pit?”

“I had to see what you did to me!” Dib argued.

“Humans have no sense of patience!” Zim declared. “If you remove _these_ bandages, it’s not my fault if you get an infection from that disgusting cooking oil.”

Dib knew that ultimately, Zim was right. It had been foolish to put himself through that. But despite how awful he still felt, he wasn’t nearly weak enough to reflect being operated on just a day earlier.

Zim laid his case on Dib’s bed and opened it. He retrieved a handled tool, activating a switch on the side, making a thin rod at the tip glow and hum.

“What’s that?” a distant memory of being prodded at with unfamiliar instruments made Dib’s chest tighten. He knew the fading nightmare had involved similar themes.

“I’m going to sterilize your wounds.” Zim said coolly. He pressed the glowing tool along the incision.

“That _stings_!” Dib wheezed and tried to sit up.

“Stop struggling or I’ll leave you to turn septic and die in your own filth!” Zim replied, shoving him back down.

Dib gritted his teeth, fists tightening around handfuls of blankets.

“This will be the only painful part,” Zim’s voice softened after Dib managed to be still for a minute. “It really wouldn’t hurt so much if it wasn’t infected.”

“Fine.” Dib licked his chapped lips. “Can I have something to drink while you do this?”

“Can’t you just hold still until I’m done?” Zim almost sounded apologetic. Almost.

“Come on! There’s a water bottle in my backpack, right there,” Dib strained to reach for the heap on the floor by his bed.

“Seriously? You’re worse than GIR!” Zim shoved him one more time, slapping his hand. He momentarily ceased his ministrations with the painful tool and reached for the human’s bag. The water bottle was thrust into Dib’s grasp. “_Now_ will you obey?” he asked wearily, returning to his work, jabbing the glowing tool against a particularly tender spot.

“Ow! Yes!” Dib gulped the water like he hadn’t had any in days.

Zim worked in silence for several minutes. When his patient wasn’t writhing around, Zim’s hands moved quickly and efficiently. Soon the painful process was over. The tool was switched off and put aside.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Dib asked softly once the alien took to carefully inspecting the sanitized wounds with a little pen-light.

“I’m not being _nice_!” Zim said defensively. “I’m looking after something that belongs to me. GIR doesn’t think I’m _nice_ when I tighten its bolts.”

He peeled off his gloves as he spoke. Dib leered at the unearthly hands. Tips of the digits bore no fingernails, but the fingers were segmented at the joints like an insect’s legs. The palms looked textured and rough.

Zim pushed back his sleeves and almost seemed to make a show of stretching the long green fingers while he put on a fresh pair of purple surgical gloves. Surely he knew he was being watched. He calmly sorted through his metal case, opening a fresh round of sealed bandages.

Precise hands pressed thin, transparent pieces of material against the cleaned cuts. Opalescent film clung to the raw skin, filling in the gaps as it settled into the flesh.

Dib tried to be patient, reflecting on the intimacy of the gesture. Zim didn’t have to do this. If the invader wanted him to suffer, he wouldn’t have returned. If he wanted him to die, he would’ve killed him long ago. He’d had plenty of opportunities recently to do it.

“These, and the sutures, will dissolve when you’ve healed.” Zim explained. “Your implant will accelerate the healing process. Obviously it’s working very efficiently if you were able to return to that Tallest-forsaken grease pit.”

“Why do you hate my job so much?” Dib changed the subject while Zim continued to lay the alien bandages on him.

Zim’s jaw visibly clenched but he didn’t respond.

“I mean, I know it’s a stinky job. But all I have to do to get the smell off is take a shower.”

“I can still smell it on you.” Zim argued. “It permeates all of those follicle organs you’re covered with. It’s really bad right here.” The gloved hands traced along Dib’s forearms when he’d finished setting the bandages. Then, the claws moved to hold Dib’s face. Dib flinched at the intimate gesture while pink eyes met his gaze. “And here. _Especially_ here.”

“I’ll get some really good acne soap,” Dib offered. He tried to caress one of the hands touching his face.

“Nothing can wash away the stink of that indignity!” Zim pulled away at the contact.

A distant look returned to Zim’s eyes. He stared blankly as something seemed to preoccupy his thoughts.

“I don’t think it’s an indignant job.” Dib tried. “I’ve been through worse things.”

“Good for you!” Zim snapped off the purple gloves and tugged his sleeves back down. Dib noted that the rough texture on his palms continued up his forearms. The alien pulled on his usual black gloves, furiously putting away the tools and the unused bandages.

“Zim… this job is going to help me get my life back together. I don’t want to live with my dad forever.” Dib tried to explain. “It’s my ticket to freedom.”

Zim slammed the case shut.

“Humans are _obsessed_ with this concept of freedom, while most of your species has no idea what it’s like to be enslaved! It’s why your planet _deserves _its impending invasion!” He growled. “What indicates freedom to your people, represents servitude to mine!”

Dib tried to speak, but he’d struck a chord and the alien continued to rant. He held his tongue and listened. It was clear that nobody had listened to Zim in a long time.

“As an invader, being indentured in a _kitchen_ was more humiliating than simply being re-encoded.” Zim stared at nothing, wringing his hands. His voice was dangerously calm, although he rocked slightly as he spoke. His eyes were wide and they stared furiously at nothing. “On the first day of my exile, my Fry Master held my hands in that _disgusting_ oil until the muscles came off like overcooked splong wings. Then, he let my body regenerate and he did it again and again, and again, until it took _days_ for the flesh to grow back all the way.” He stretched his fingers, gazing at the aforementioned hands as he spoke. “I cried like a smeet in front of those pathetic food drones. And that was just the first day. I lived there for years.”

Dib listened solemnly. _Exile_? It was a word he’d never expected to hear from Zim. He wondered if Zim was aware of what he was admitting.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Dib spoke sheepishly.

“I had to deal with that oil _every_ day,” Zim continued. “Each time I defied my Master, I was punished with it. They poured it down my throat, over my body. Those food drones stripped me of my uniform and splashed it on all my soft glands. Luckily food drones are sterile too, or else they probably would’ve thought to put it up my reproductive vent.”

Dib felt sick as Zim described the torture. He understood now why Zim was not bothered by pain, but by the smell of cooked meat.

Not that Dib had plans to quit the MacMeatie’s job any time soon.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, guiltily.

“Your sorrow is wasted on me!” Zim said firmly. He stood abruptly, jamming the metal case under his arm.

“Wait!” Dib called to him as he moved away from the bed. “Are you leaving already?”

Zim shrugged at the notion of staying. “I have important work to do.”

“Oh, you have some cattle to mutilate? Huh? Some crop circles to draw?”

“I was going to do that tomorrow night.” Zim did not acknowledge whether he was joking.

“Then why don’t you stay with me a while longer?” he tried pathetically to sound cool and coy. “You know, to make sure I don’t accidentally pull my bandages off again?”

“Should I follow you everywhere you go and watch you at all times, then?” Zim said. “Even in your toilet facility?”

Dib made a show of rolling his eyes. Zim was so cold despite his attentiveness only minutes ago. He tried to look at the situation the way Zim did.

“You know that humans are a really social species, right? It’s an evolutionary survival trait.” An antenna perked in curiosity. He tried to make a decent sounding argument. “If I’m going to be your, um, _love-pig_? I’m going to need regular socializing from you if you want me to behave.”

Zim sighed.

“Would this ‘socializing’ make a noticeable improvement to your overall _health_?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” In that moment it felt like absolute truth. “It would also contribute to an improvement in my stamina. I want to be real good for you. You know, when we do it.”

“Yes, yes,” Zim shrugged as if remembering a chore he was yet to complete. “The fuck.”

“Do you still want to do that again?” Dib asked, realizing too late that Zim hadn’t responded enthusiastically the last few times he’d mentioned sex.

Zim looked at him blankly. There was clearly more on his mind than what he let on to.

“Yes.” He said stiffly, visibly wincing.

“Really?” Dib asked. “I mean, that’s good. I do too.”

Zim hesitantly crawled back onto the bed, uncomfortably poking at on the soft material. He rigidly knelt beside where Dib lay.

Dib wanted to urge him to cuddle, but he knew he was already pushing it.

“I really want to fuck you again,” he admitted instead, stretching, folding his arms under his head on his pillow.

“No! None of that ridiculous rutting until your wounds close!” Zim said firmly.

“Not right now!” Dib said defensively. “When this is healed, I mean. Can we do it again?”

“Eh… sure.” Zim said, more stiffly than before. Dib wondered if it was a reflection of shyness.

“I’m going to get some nice lube for you,” he explained. When Zim waved the concept dismissively, he continued. “It’ll be a better experience for you, I promise. Hopefully you won’t _bleed_ so much.”

Now he was sure he’d embarrassed the alien.

“Why should you care whether I bleed?” Zim grimaced, folding his arms.

“Why should _you_ care if I consent to being drugged?” Dib replied.

Zim scowled for several moments. Then he tried a different angle.

“Breeding makes humans _crave_ this socialization behavior.” He observed. Dib begrudgingly nodded. “Would you insist on being socialized if you’d never done the fuck to me?”

“No.” Dib admitted it under his breath. “I’d probably still hate you.”

“You _don’t_ hate me now?” He almost seemed concerned.

“I hate that you want to take over my planet and enslave the human race. I’ll _always_ hate you for that.”

Zim nodded as if he found the assurance comforting. He continued.

“Why did you want to do the fuck to me in the first place?”

“I didn’t really plan on it, I guess.” Dib wasn’t sure why he felt like he was being scolded.

“Then why did you come to me with your genitals all _engorged_?”

“Sometimes that just happens.” Dib squirmed remembering that night. “I was thinking about something that was exciting to me. Humans just get random erections sometimes. Not to mention I was only a day out on quitting my meds. My guy was confused.”

“You’re saying that all human males, even a soft-bodied food drone such as yourself, can engorge their genitals? On a whim, even unintentionally?”

“Most men, yeah. There are definitely some exceptions.” Dib blushed to hear Zim insult him. How could he find that sexy, even in a moment like this?

“As an invader, I was of such elevated social order that I was below only the Irken Elite. And yet even an invader isn’t considered worthy of controlling his own reproductive organs.” He clenched his fist.

Dib held his tongue until Zim was done pontificating. It seemed prudent to know more about the exile he’d mentioned.

“A long time ago, somebody told me that the Elite can engorge their genitals at will, and that they like to spend days at a time just doing the fuck to each other, to their servants, their robots. Breeding without purpose, only decadence.” Zim pontificated.

“Like Roman orgies?” Dib tried.

“Whatever.” Zim said. “I wouldn’t listen to those stories when I heard them… then on Foodcourtia I saw it for myself— members of the Elite spending days at a time gorging on food. They eat until their bodies can’t take anymore. Then they vomit and dookie on themselves, and they continue where they left off, screaming for more food while they stuff a whole mooshminky in their mouths. ‘Eat, Then Explode!’ It was the theme of the restaurant where I was exiled.”

“Sick.” Dib softly agreed, listening intently.

“To think that the lowliest humans can experience something exclusive to Irk’s ruling class…” Zim closed his eyes. “It makes me _hate_ your species now more than ever!”

“Oh.” Dib knew he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“No wonder humans are so pathetic and disgusting! Your stupidest, most _hideous_ members of society are allowed to breed with each other at will!”

“You sound like you’re jealous.” Despite Zim’s openness, Dib wasn’t in the mood to hear about how terrible his planet was.

Zim smirked. “Have you had enough socializing, then? I have better things to do than keep after you like a baby animal.”

“Kiss me.” Dib smirked back.

“No! You don’t deserve that!” Zim’s arms crossed truculently.

“I’ll pull my bandages off if you don’t.”

“If you remove the bandages, I will remove your fingers!” The alien warned, but he relented, bending down to meet Dib’s lips. Dib grinned against the shy kiss until a claw-hand came up to tightly squeeze his neck.

“Don’t threaten me in order to coerce sexual contact out of me, _human_, and I will afford you the same dignity!” Zim spoke suddenly in an intimidating voice that he must’ve used on his subordinates when he’d been a soldier. His grip tightened. “Do you understand?”

Dib whimpered his reply just as the segmented tongue entered his mouth and slid down his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 12 summary: Dib has ongoing nightmares. Zim shows up in his room and scolds him for being reckless with his surgical wounds. Zim cleans and bandages him; eventually talks a little about his exile on Foodcourtia, maybe beginning to question some of his own values. Dib still acts like a creep but Zim finally says something about it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 13 notes:  
QUICK WARNINGS: marijuana purchase/use, and more ignorant jokes about neopronouns and sjws (author is nb if that helps but you already knew this fic was very problematic)
> 
> Posting this piece has made me feel a little vulnerable… I really really appreciate everyone who’s been following this fic. Thanks again.

The next morning Dib sat in class and glared half-longingly at the back of Zim’s head. He’d yet to actually get Zim’s number, so he tried his earlier method to airdrop a nice message to Zim’s phone. But his “Hi!” and “good morning :)” were ignored—eventually Zim figured out his approach and Dib’s third attempt was blocked.

After the previous night’s intimacy, Dib decided to close the distance between them and follow Zim after class. Stalking Zim was harder these days now that he had an entourage that was eager to defend him. Dib approached the alien with his small army of girls and persons of various neo-genders—the one called Meegin spotted him first and moved to block him from getting any closer to Zim.

“I’d like to talk to my boyfriend, please,” Dib looked up into her eyes and explained his intentions as if placing a fast-food order.

“Not today, Satan!” she announced meme-like, crossing her arms.

“Stand down! Let the Dib-Human speak!” Zim barked behind her, not unlike a king instructing a royal interpreter.

“Did you hear that? He called me Dib-_Human_!” Dib caught himself stammering at the girls. How could they not comprehend that Zim was an alien? He grumbled and gave up—it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to convince people who were already gleefully brainwashed. Zim grinned at him from behind his makeshift bodyguards. Dib scowled and leaned around the Meegin girl to call at him. “How come you’re blocking my messages?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, pig-smelly human!” Zim scoffed. The girls at his flanks snickered.

“Can I talk to you alone, maybe?” Dib asked. When Meegin stepped closer, he tried another angle. “I think there’s something wrong with that _gift_ you gave me.” He emphasized his claim by anxiously rubbing the access point of the implant in his chest.

Zim stared at Dib’s moving hand, grumbling and rolling his contacts.

A few moments later when they were alone together, Dib lowered his voice and repeated his earlier question.

“Why are you dodging me?”

Zim scowled. “First tell me what you’ve done to damage your implant in the pathetically short amount of time that I’ve left you unsupervised!”

“The implant’s fine, I just told you that to get you away from those _people_.” Dib glanced back to the crowd that was staring at him and decided it was best to try to stay on their good side. “Anyway, could I get your phone number?”

“Ah! So Meegin was right, you _are_ only concerned with gaslighting and manipulating me!” Zim exclaimed, probably loud enough for the others to hear.

Dib cringed, increasingly exhausted of Zim’s ‘friends.’ “Look, what’s the deal? Do you even _like_ me?”

Zim stared at him curiously. “No. Why?”

“I told my dad that we’re dating!” Dib wheezed. “We’ve had sex twice already! Please tell me that you didn’t hate every moment of it!”

Zim immediately stiffened again at the mention of sex. “Why would you alert your family unit about our fertilization interactions?”

Dib’s heart sank. The nervous look on Zim’s face made him feel entirely like a predator.

“Fine, you know what? I’m done here.” He let his head tip forward to drive home the point. His flag of hair dropped into his face. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Zim.”

“Eh… wait!” Zim stopped him from shuffling away melodramatically. “If I tell you that I _enjoyed_ letting you rut all over me like a filthy animal, will you cease this depressive moping?”

“What difference does it make?” Dib replied. “If being with me is so terrible, we’re both better off staying single.”

“What does that mean?” Zim asked sincerely.

“That means, unless you actually want to be with me, I’m breaking up with you!” When Zim’s puzzled expression didn’t change, he explained it further. “I’m not going to hang out with you and have sex with you anymore.”

“Nooo! The _Dib-Human_ does not refuse the breeding practices with _Zim_!” Zim crooned dramatically, prompting the Meegin person to tear away from the group.

“Oh? So you want me around after all?” Dib smirked.

“Yes, when you’re _quiet_! That smelly, cheese-filled mouth of yours is better suited for licking my reproductive vent than for making all those annoying monkey noises.” Zim hissed at him.

“Do you _like_ having sex?” Dib pressed onward.

Zim squirmed furiously. He would not meet Dib’s eyes.

“_Obviously_.” He whispered.

“What are you doing to him, freak?” Meegin demanded as she approached them.

“Just a little gaslighting and manipulation!” Dib gave her a pointed smile as she got closer.

Zim saw her approach. He glared at Dib and snatched up his hand for Meegin to see.

“Human friend-slave! Gaze upon my rightfully claimed Love-Pig!” Zim ordered her, tightening his grasp on Dib’s hand so he couldn’t pull away.

Meegin clutched her phone in front of her, clearly ready to start filming at any moment.

“You’re not actually dating this problematic asshole… are you?” she said incredulously to Zim.

“It may seem quite disgusting, but it’s true!” Zim announced. “My breeding-slave performs all the moist and sticky sexual favors that I task him with. Truly, his come-orgasms are quite—,” Zim pondered a satisfactory adjective, “—sparkly.”

“Well…” she glared at Dib, looking him over as if making a list of things to scrutinize more closely. “Being in an openly queer relationship _does_ increase your social justice street cred…”

“Good! So you accept my normal, recreational mating, which all normal humans love to do!” Zim nodded at the girl.

Dib squeezed Zim’s hand watching the interaction go down, making the alien tremble and scowl. Hearing Zim brag about their sex made him wonder now how much of the nervous shyness was put on when they were alone just to make him feel bad. But he could see for himself that Zim was anxious just _talking_ to the Meegin girl. This many years after arriving on Earth, being up close and personal with humans still seemed to put him on alert. The fact that Dib had made it far enough to have sex with him surely spoke to how close Zim wanted to keep him.

Now he just felt bad for trying to dump him. Not that he really would’ve done it, but he had to be sure that Zim was actually interested.

Dib glanced at the phone in Meegin’s hand, a cold shiver creeping down his spine remembering being filmed on that fateful day in Soc 101. He promised himself that he would not give these students the opportunity to humiliate him like that.

Dragging himself to kollege each day was slowly becoming more of a chore, and it wasn’t just from the fear of being recorded again. The commotion and trauma from the week had left him exhausted and he missed another skool assignment. It was still early in the semester so he told himself it was fine, but he didn’t see himself starting the next assignment any time soon.

Instead he tried to do as Zim had instructed after the surgery, spending his free time resting and healing. Lazy afternoons were wasted lurking on his favorite message boards, evenings he shuffled to MacMeatie’s and sprayed dirty dishes until the ache in his abdomen had softened enough for him to return to the fryer.

Two weeks had passed since Dib flushed his pills down the toilet, and he was certain that he was close to sweating the last of it out of his body. Indeed, in his focus to heal his surgical wounds, he almost forgot all about the meds he was coming off of.

He could not forget entirely. As the drugs dissipated, the sleeping parts of his mind were waking up. Every evening now he had nightmares. One night he woke up gasping from the phantom sensation of a hundred pins and needles jammed into a dream image of a voodoo doll in his likeness. The next night he could hear the echoing laughter of his peers the day he’d lost his mind, looking into the phone cameras that recorded him while he’d screamed at his hallucinations.

At last it was Thursday. Dib found himself at work, half-listening to Torque’s spiel about food.

“So that’s why fried stuff tastes so good.” Torque was gesturing to the gray-brown oil and explaining something. “It’s not just all the fat. The oil seals in all the steam and makes the food moist and delicious. It’s like doing a sous vide.”

“A what?” Dib tried to lose himself in the work rather than fixate on whatever happened to the recordings that had been taken of him on the day he had his psychotic break. Torque’s voice was steady and easy to listen to, even if the subject was hard to follow.

“Yeah, it’s like when you cook food inside a bag?” Torque tried to explain.

Dib gestured to a bag of pre-fabricated gravy simmering in a steam table, trying to seem interested in the conversation.

“Uh, sorta. I dunno, we were learning about it in kulinary skool this week and I thought it was cool.” Torque said.

“You’re in kulinary skool?” Once again Dib found himself surprised by Torque’s depth.

“Yeah, I got some vokational training in prison and I decided I wanted to be a chef when I got out.” Torque nodded. “You can come down to the skool and watch me cook if you want. I have to wear the stupid hat and everything.”

With renewed interest and a new subject to think about, Dib eagerly listened to Torque pontificate about his recipes. He obediently followed the manager around that day, losing track of time until equipment started coming apart and cooks started going home.

“Anyway, you need to check out UTENSIL’s new album.” Torque was going on again about a particular band he found inspirational. “This is their first new album in like, years. They finally made all their stuff available to stream online, too.”

“I never really got into metal,” Dib admitted as he sprayed the bottom of a fryer filter with a floor hose. 

“You don’t have to be into metal to like UTENSIL,” Torque argued. “That guy over there doesn’t like metal and he loves UTENSIL. Right, That guy over there?”

“It’s true,” agreed That guy over there.

Dib was at least grateful to be included. It was an entirely new experience. He realized then that he’d literally never had real-life friends. His sister certainly didn’t count, and Zim probably didn’t either. To be talked to like a normal workplace peer was more casual human interaction than he’d ever had in his life.

It was why he was also caught off guard when Torque handed him his pay stub and prompted, “Do you still have that $20 I gave you?”

“Yeah, thanks again.” Dib had forgotten about the money after his surgery. “I’ll pay you back when I get back from my next break.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Torque said, lowering his voice. “Unless you want to spend it on something nice.”

Later, they stood outside the restaurant by the dumpsters. Torque helped Dib lift the soggy garbage bags and then cornered him behind the loading dock.

“So, a friend of mine grows. He hooked me up with this really dank eighth, but I can’t have any since I’m still on parole, and my girlfriend doesn’t smoke.”

“…Okay…?”

“So… Are you interested?” Torque prompted like he was slightly irritated to have to spell it out. “$20 is less than what you’d pay in the shops, and this stuff is way better. No pesticides and shit.”

Dib realized at last that he was being offered the sale of drugs.

Nobody had ever approached him with such an offer before. Being a pariah in skool had left him with no peers by whom to be pressured. Indeed, when the first recreational marijuana shop opened downtown, Gaz had refused to smoke with him and he’d sworn off the use of the drug unless he had someone to enjoy it with.

Now, standing on the loading dock behind MacMeatie’s, Dib grinned to himself imagining cuddling with a stoned alien.

“What strain?” Dib exhausted the entirety of the weed lingo he knew trying to sound as cool as the transaction made him feel.

“I think he said it’s like ‘Alien Cookies’ or something?”

Dib grinned. He’d heard enough.

When he got home and showed his purchase to her, Gaz didn’t share his enthusiasm for the idea.

“You’re going to use a psychotropic drug less than a week off your meds,” she warned.

“It’s been _two_ weeks, and it’s not like it’s LSD or something,” Dib argued. He felt like he was answering to a parent. “Anyway, it’ll be fun to do it with Zim.”

“He won’t smoke with you.” Gaz scoffed at the idea.

“Just because the two of you are ‘friends’ on Big Social Media doesn’t mean you know him better than I do,” he said.

He popped open the doubled gallon-size ziplock bags that Torque had presented his purchase in.

Gaz held her nose at the smell that filled his bedroom. He had no idea what about this batch made it so ‘dank,’ but a few minutes’ research suggested that he had indeed gotten a good deal.

Now that his father was out of the house again, Dib dipped into his purchase and awkwardly sampled it alone on the roof outside his childhood bedroom, smoking out of a crushed Super Poop can. It elicited a door slam from Gaz as she locked herself in her bedroom for the night. Dib ignored her and plunked himself in front of his computer for the evening, watching old _Food Hell_ episodes and wondering what it would be like to go to kulinary skool with Torque.

He fell asleep hunched over his keyboard. The nightmares finally gave him a break that night, and he dreamt instead about working the fryer at MacMeatie’s with Zim.

The next day Dib woke up in a foul-smelling room. He didn’t regret what he’d done. Rather, he floated giddily through the morning, for once looking forward to returning to skool, especially since he’d actually finished an assignment.

He felt particularly cool that morning in his favorite pair of boots. The additional height of the platform soles would be amusing on his upcoming date with Zim.

His glee on the matter faded during his first class when Zim was absent from his place at the table in the front.

It concerned him enough to approach the girls that Zim was hanging out with earlier.

“He was vagueposting on Big Social last night,” Meegin said earnestly. “But he just changed his relationship status too, so I don’t feel like he’s been too depressed lately.”

“Really? What did he change his status to?” Dib asked, surprised by his own eagerness. It was strangely a relief to think that Zim would publicly acknowledge their relationship.

“Why don’t you add him and find out yourself? Unless you’re some kind of _creep_ who isn’t on Big Social.” Meegin laughed knowingly while she and her squad went on their way.

Dib worried about it for the rest of the morning. Technically Zim had never actually confirmed plans with him for the day, but Dib wondered if he was being stood up. The girls’ words sat on him. He had to know more about the relationship status—certainly he also wondered about the alien being depressed. He wished for a moment that he could suck it up and push past his paranoia long enough to just get an account and find out what all the normal people knew.

Dib knew he should’ve allowed a little distance, but once skool was done for the day, he found himself on the bus headed to the other side of town. Between the quest for paranormal information, and the pursuit of a real relationship, something compelled him to find out what Zim was up to.

Vibration in his back pocket interrupted his worrying. The call was coming from a private number. Paranoia instantly seized him, but curiosity compelled him to answer it anyway. He silently held the phone to his ear and waited for a greeting.

“_Hello? Hello?_” a feminine-sounding voice implored him to answer after a few moments.

“Yeah.” He said stiffly, visualizing a hateful Swollen Eyeball member on the other end, laying out a candle-lit pentagram with a picture of him in the center.

“_Is this Dib Membrane?_”

“Maybe,” Dib wheezed frantically. He could already feel the dark forces working against him.

“_Can you go ahead and confirm your birthdate for me_?”

“Who’s asking?” Dib spat back, digging through his backpack one-handed, frantically searching for the small bottle of magickal protective oil he carried with him at all times.

“_My name is Bethanie, I’m calling from Dr. Ominous’ practice_,” the voice said. “_Your father reached out to us on your behalf, but you’ll have to schedule your own appointment since you’re an adult_.”

“Oh.” Dib sighed in relief, although the feeling didn’t last long. This enemy was just as frightening to hear from as the others he’d made along the years. He wondered how his dad had found the time to contact the psychiatrist when he’d always claimed to be too busy to take a phone call or answer a text.

“_So… what’s a good day for you to come in and do your intake paperwork?” _Bethanie from Dr. Ominous’ practice pushed onward.

Dib’s stomach lurched. He clutched the phone and looked around, meeting the eyes of the people sitting near enough to him to listen to his conversation.

“Uh, I don’t really know what my schedule is going to be like for the next several weeks,” Dib spoke quickly. He squeezed the protective oil tightly in his fist. It might not be a bad idea to use it after all.

“_Well, please give us a call as soon as you know_,” the secretary continued. “_Your father mentioned a sense of urgency_.”

“Yeah. Cool. Thanks.” Dib ended the call and dabbed a little bit of the oil on his forehead just for good measure. The simple phone call had left him trembling. He closed his eyes to escape the stares of those around him and leaned back in his seat, trying to daydream about his date with Zim instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 13 summary:  
Dib confronts Zim at skool about their relationship. Later at work he learns that Torque is attending kulinary skool. Formation of a senpai complex begins. Torque sells Dib some weed; Dib argues with Gaz about it, then smokes and fantasizes about being friends with Torque. The next day, Zim is absent from skool. Zim’s friend tells Dib about Zim’s social media use. Dib goes to visit Zim. On the way he gets a call from Dr. Ominous (from Chapter 10) and flips out thinking he’s been contacted by an enemy from the Swollen Eyeball. 
> 
> If you like synth/EBM here’s a little playlist I’ve been working on for this fic (like everything else it’s subject to change as this goes on but here it is for now): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLna9XAMhVqPH3nBSZ2XUFkzNDKymf-gGK  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 14 notes:  
CW: more weed mention/drug use. This will be a theme for the next few chapters—but it won’t be forever. There is sort of a “point” to it.
> 
> (Sorry for the delay on posting this chapter. I might post a little less frequently for a while as I’m in the middle of starting a new job – I do have several chapters already written and being edited, but I just want to stagger my posting in case I don’t have to time to write new content later during the holidays.)

Approaching Zim’s lair uninvited still inspired a certain degree of fear in Dib’s heart— or at least the lack thereof. He’d been shot at by lawn gnomes and beaten by robot parents enough times to know better than to dash up to the door when Zim was in a bad mood. Nervously he tiptoed to the stoop and gingerly knocked on the door with a shaky fist.

The little sentry robot answered several minutes later.

“Pizza?!” it gasped excitedly when it saw him.

“No… um, it’s me? Dib?” the robot’s vacant look annoyed him. “You know me! I’m basically Zim’s boyfriend by now!”

“So… no pizza?”

“You remember me, right?”

“Nope!” the robot grinned gleefully.

“You’ve helped Zim mess with me for _years_.” Dib sighed. “You’ve seen my penis.”

“Ohh!” the robot said like it just realized who Dib was. Then it paused for a moment. “Nah, I don’t remember.”

“Just let him in, GIR…”

The voice that came from inside the house was muffled and low. Dib was instantly on high alert. He’d never known Zim to sound like that. He strained to peer over the robot’s head, looking for suspicious happenings. The house had always been dark inside to begin with, and the few functioning windows were shut, shades drawn.

“But he didn’t bring me pizza…” the robot whined as it stepped aside.

Dib stepped across the threshold, gazing into the dark living room. In his haste he forgot about the robot parents. They snapped into position in front of him, so quick on their rollers they made him flinch.

“_Welcome home, son_!” their voices were warbled and several pitches too deep from age. The paint on their faces was peeling. Dib studied the dilapidated automatons. It was like walking through an abandoned theme park without all the rust and mildew.

Zim was letting things fall apart.

A television played. Changing blue light cast elongated shadows across the barren space.

A lump in the center of the couch moved.

“Are you okay?” Dib asked lamely, stepping closer.

“Why did you come here?” Zim lay face-down, arms at his sides, fingers curling.

“I wanted to know if you were sick,” Dib said, trying to be honest.

“I’m _sick_ of being alive.” Zim casually navigated the play on words. He used puns and colloquialisms with less effort these days, like he’d long since become fluent in the human language.

Dib had almost hoped the alien was affected by some space disease that could not be blamed on his presence in Zim’s life. But he knew this kind of depression all too well. He’d lived this moment many times himself.

Dib slowly sank onto the couch. Zim did not recoil, but he also didn’t rise to meet the hand that Dib placed on his shoulder.

“So. What’s up?” Dib decided he already sounded stupid. “You can tell me about it.”

“It’s your fault.” A muffled voice grumbled into the couch cushion.

“Huh?”

“It’s your fault!” Zim repeated, turning his head so he could properly wail about it. “I never would’ve participated in recreational mating if you hadn’t shown me your hideously engorged genitals that night!”

“Technically I didn’t _show_ you— you ordered your robot to pull my pants down.” Dib realized he shouldn’t be arguing about it. Not that it mattered.

“Why would the Elite keep it a secret?” Zim pondered aloud, preoccupied with something bigger than Dib was a part of. “Eh… I know why they hide it from us. What soldier could focus on battle with something so nice to play with? Who would die for the Armada if they knew that _life_ could be pleasurable? Just look how stupid humans are because of it!”

Dib hung his head. Before they’d had sex, Zim had probably never given a second thought to the fact that he was impotent and sterile. It had obviously been a way of life for him, a way which was now upset.

“I’m sorry,” Dib apologized lamely, pulling away from Zim’s shoulder.

“I did not give you permission to stop touching me!” Zim said into the couch cushion.

“Oh. Okay.” Dib shrugged—he’d take what he could get. He reached forward again, this time laying his hand on Zim’s spine below his PAK. He rubbed a gentle circle on the alien’s back.

Zim sighed like the touch helped lift the weight of the world off him.

“Why are you here?” he repeated a few minutes later, face turning on the couch so one ruby eye could glare at Dib.

“I like you,” Dib said softly, apologetically.

Zim glared through the single exposed eye. “I thought you hated me.”

“I _do_ hate you,” Dib admitted.

“Hm!” Zim sneered. “How complicated!”

Another silent minute passed. It must’ve been a good sign that Zim hadn’t kicked him out yet.

“Can I open this window?” Dib gestured to one at the front of the house. He tried not to be too obvious in his effort to pull Zim out of his funk.

“I don’t care,” Zim shrugged, although he buried his face again when the room filled with light.

Dib glanced around the house, thinking about all the things that Gaz had helped him with when he’d been depressed in his old apartment. Zim didn’t have laundry laying around or stacks of dishes piling up in his kitchen. The physical chores were easy to help with. Dib gazed at his companion.

“Do you want something to eat?” he remembered the first hot meal Gaz cooked for him that time when she’d cleaned his apartment and tried to cheer him up.

Zim pondered the offer. “I haven’t eaten or regenerated for several days.”

Eager to offer a solution to Zim’s problems, Dib tore through his backpack until he found a squished granola bar buried in its depths. He thrust it into the alien’s hand.

“You can have that, okay?”

Zim dragged the treat to his face with a noodle-like arm. He studied the food through the clear wrapper.

“I can’t eat this.” He shrugged.

“Why not? It’s vegan and gluten-free.”

“It has all those unprocessed plant bits in it that I can’t digest.”

“You can’t eat _fiber_?”

Somehow this question elicited a classic, crazed cackle out of the alien. A minute later he composed himself and explained.

“A soldier’s body can only break down simple carbohydrates and amino acids. Our military supplements resemble the kibble your species feeds to domesticated animals. Of course, the Elite can eat _anything_ they choose. I’ve seen them chew on their tables when the food doesn’t come out from the kitchen fast enough.”

As much as regarding his sexuality, Zim seemed to be having a crisis of cultural identity.

“There’s basically a ruling class here on Earth,” Dib tried misguidedly to relate. “I think that’s the way it goes in an advanced civilization. The ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’ that they talk about, you know? Most of us humans at the bottom basically just work all our lives to support the lifestyles of the rich and privileged.”

“Why are you nagging me with this _boring_ information?” Zim wheezed desperately. “Stop it!”

“I’m trying to make you feel better!”

“Zim needs no consolation!” Zim grimaced and threw the granola bar at Dib’s head.

“Ow!” Dib rubbed his forehead where the surprisingly hard snack made contact. He reminded himself that he’d come here seeking a date with the creature sulking and throwing food at him. “Look, why don’t you take a nap? I’ll go out and buy you like, a milkshake or whatever.”

Zim gagged obnoxiously. “Don’t bring any of that cow mammary juice into this house!”

“What do you want, then?” Dib was already standing and pulling on his backpack.

“Just stay!” Although it was barked in that militant voice, the vulnerability in it was obvious.

Dib returned to his spot on the couch. He wished he had something to do for the situation besides sit there. His annoying presence was all he could offer.

“It’s nice outside.” He cringed at the corniness of the subject. But it earned a slight lift of an antenna so he powered through. “I was hoping we could go for a walk later.”

“Eh… I have to regenerate before I can do anything,” Zim explained into the cushion. “So _tired_…”

“That’s fine. I’ll come back.”

“_Stay_!” Zim repeated. “Occupy my robot while you wait! It won’t take long.”

Before Dib could say anything, Zim at last moved from the dent he’d made in the couch. His joints were rigid as he struggled to pull himself upright. He looked up at Dib—the material of the cushion had left a patterned imprint on his face.

Zim’s voice was rough as he yelled at his robot. “GIR! Entertain my human while I’m regenerating!”

The sentry robot saluted, its eyes glowing red.

Zim clutched Dib’s leg for just a brief moment. Then the PAK announced an order in Irken and made a mechanical noise. Zim suddenly went limp, his head tipping back to roll against the couch. He sat there, motionless, his wide eyes staring blankly like a corpse.

“Okay… that’s weird.” Dib hesitantly shoved Zim’s thigh. The leg moved and then fell back to where it dangled. Dib pressed onward, poking him under his chest. When he didn’t respond, Dib brought his fingers to Zim’s head, gingerly touching the base of an antenna.

“I’m… conscious…” Zim’s voice made Dib startle. The alien strained to speak through motionless lips.

“Sorry!” Dib folded his hands in his lap. He didn’t know what he’d expected.

“Oooh, I like doin’ that too!” the robot crooned while it clambered onto the couch between them. He reached up and poked at Zim’s face. Half a minute later, Zim growled ever so slightly.

“GIR…” he mumbled angrily. “Your… duties…”  
Dib eventually gave in to guilt and shooed the robot away from the paralyzed alien.

The robot whined angrily until it became distracted.

“I’s gonna make you a taquito!”

As the machine stomped off to the kitchen, Dib turned back to Zim, fretting over his motionless but conscious body.

“Is this what _sleep_ is like for your people?” he asked excitedly. A picture of the resting state would be interesting for his collection, but he firmly decided against it, at least this time. “How do you perceive stuff around you? Huh? It is like being on a time delay? Can you experience sensory stuff? Huh? Huh?”

A long moment of silence passed.

“Brain function… minimal… Sensory processing slow… Restoring organs… Healing body-shell…” A crackling noise in Zim’s knees punctuated the point.

The robot returned from the kitchen, several greasy rolled tacos in its metallic hands. It thrust one at Dib.

“Uh, thanks…” he accepted the offered food. The robot had already swallowed its first serving. Dib took a hesitant bite of the cold snack. It was surprisingly sour. “Is that real cheese?” he asked, wondering about Zim’s dairy aversion.

He’d made it through a second bite before Zim could speak.

“Stolen from dumpster… Burrito King…” he warned softly.

“Here, why don’t you finish mine?” Dib handed the food back to the robot just as he noticed a flake on it that was either cardboard or a dead leaf.

The robot ate soiled taquitos and danced around by itself. The whimsical machine was so strikingly different from the mopey alien. Dib had wondered before why Zim kept the robot around. He guessed it had something to do with a certain degree of loneliness. If GIR had lasted this long, maybe there was hope for him, too.

The movement around the couch made Zim’s limp body shift slightly. His mouth fell open. Dib reached forward and pushed it closed just as the robot attempted to insert a taquito.

“Good human…” Zim murmured his praise half a minute later.

Though he was motionless, Dib could hear Zim’s joints crackling again. His knees crunched grotesquely. It sounded like his legs were sneaking a midnight bag of chips.

“Closer…” Zim tried to speak.

Dib scooted nearer on the couch so that their thighs pressed together.

Another minute passed.

“Warm…” Zim grumbled.

“Yeah, it’s cold in here.” Dib agreed. He pondered a moment longer, looking at the sagging figure beside him. He decided that Zim would tell him to stop if he didn’t want the contact—then, he put his arms around the motionless alien and pulled him into an embrace. “Is that okay?”

“In battle…” Zim’s voice was muffled now by Dib’s shoulder. “Wounded… stay together… safety, body heat… helps regenerating.”

“You used to _cuddle_ with other wounded soldiers while you healed?” Dib guessed. The mental image of a dozen little Irkens holding each other made him smile. It probably wasn’t as cute as his mind’s eye wanted it to be. He considered instead a scene of huddled, weary soldiers trying to conserve body heat while they waited to dash back to the battlefield.

All the melodrama was shattering the image of the bumbling alien asshole that Dib preferred to spend time with.

“Are you going to wake up soon? I’m bored.” he asked even though he still held Zim in his arms. He could feel something else crunching along the small spine under his hands.

“Go do fuck… on yourself…” Zim mumbled.

Some time later the PAK made another mechanical noise. The computerized voice announced the end of whatever regenerative cycle Zim had just been through. It reminded him of the talking dishwasher in his Dad’s kitchen.

Zim groaned. He sat up easily now, quickly wriggling out of Dib’s grasp as he regained mobility. If cuddling with Dib held any significance to him he didn’t show it now.

“GIR! How many times have I told you not to put things in my mouth while I’m regenerating?” He yelled at his robot while he stood up and stretched his legs.

“What’s that hideous smell?” he asked, turning back to Dib a moment later. He pointed to the pile of Dib’s stuff on the floor beside them.

“Is it that obvious?” Dib sniffed his backpack before unzipping it and producing the bundle of plastic bags tucked inside.

The worm-like tongue flicked past scowling lips.

“What disgusting Earth food are you going to cook with _that_?”

Dib was surprised that Zim could at least recognize the herbal content.

“I’m not going to cook with it, at least not this time.” He explained patiently. “I’m going to smoke it. I mean, I’m going to burn it and inhale the vapors. You should do it with me.”

“I don’t like smoke,” Zim said flatly. He pondered, hand-claw on his chin. “I don’t have lungs.”

“Great.” Dib glared at the weed, feeling instantly stupid. He wished he’d listened to Gaz.

“Why do you want to inhale the plant vapors?” Zim asked sincerely. “Especially one that smells so bad…?”

“It’s an herbal supplement. Well… it’s like a drug, basically. I mean… well, literally. Okay, it’s a drug.” Zim looked at him skeptically while he backpedaled. “It’s fun!”

“You said you don’t enjoy being under the influence of drugs.” An antenna lifted with a sincere head tilt.

“Well, you see… I don’t like that nasty artificial head stuff. This is different.” Dib reasoned.

“How so?”

“This drug is natural, for one thing. It doesn’t knock you out. Just helps you relax and have fun. Some people think it’s very energizing.” Dib said.

“I see.” Zim said flatly. He looked away from the package in mock disinterest. “I suppose someone with those breathey-sucky air bladders in their abdominal cavity would enjoy imbibing this drug with you.”

“I brought it because I thought we could enjoy it together.”

Zim shrugged. “I can synthesize any drug I want, any time, in any form. If you want to be under the influence so badly, why not try something nice and clean-smelling that I can provide for you?”

He illustrated his point by activating a hidden touchscreen in the television in front of them, plugging in specifications and then receiving a small vial of pale pink liquid from a moving panel in the wall. He held the vial to the light and then inserted it into a port in his PAK.

“See? It’s as simple as that. And it doesn’t _stink_!”

“I just want something natural, that’s meant for humans.” Dib said. He studied Zim for a reaction to the vial. “So, what did you just take?

“Don’t worry about it.” Zim said. “First—what was it you said about weather, and walking, and favored colors, and socializing…?” he moved his hands in front of himself, searching for a word. “The Dib-date.”

“You remembered that?” Dib asked, surprised.

“What is this about? Tell me! Make it quick, I have _things_ to do if I’m to go out among the humans.”

“I want to take you around to some places I like. We can get some food and hang out.” Dib shifted where he sat in hopes that Zim would notice his fresh shave and cool boots.

“Sounds boring,” Zim said plainly.

“It’s basically the same thing we’ve already been doing, but with less surgery and more going out in public.” He thought about it further, trying to remember this was Zim he was talking to. “It would make you look a lot more human.”

“Hm. Explain!” Zim scowled, paying full attention now.

“How else can you show off to other humans that you’re seeing someone?” he remembered his conversation with the Meegin girl. “I’m sure you see it all the time on Big Social Media. Coupled humans go out together.”

“Yes, yes. They all post pictures of themselves doing the face-chewing in public spaces.” Zim nodded with interest.

“And you know something else? When I was in 72-hour observation, they thought it was really suspicious that I hadn’t been in a public, long-term relationship.” Dib knew it was wicked to play on the alien’s fearful side, but he did it anyway. “What if you got into trouble with the government or something and they found out that nobody had ever seen you go on a date? It’s just… _inhuman_.”

“Ha! You’re exaggerating!” Zim crossed his arms and lifted his head smugly.

“Maybe, but do you want to take the risk?”

“Enough of this time-wasting conversation!” Zim pointed forward dramatically. “Hurry up and imbibe your stinky drug so that our Human-Date can begin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 14 summary:  
Dib goes to Zim’s house and finds him being all depressive and mopey. Zim questions the exclusive ruling of the Irken Elite. Dib tries to help; he ends up annoying Zim enough to distract him. Zim demonstrates a sleep/regenerative cycle and cuddles with Dib a little bit. Lots of headcanon-y infodumping basically. Zim finds Dib’s weed and the discussion of drug use comes up; Zim imbibes an unknown alien drug. Dib <s>manipulates</s> talks Zim into going out with him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 15 notes:  
cw- more ongoing marijuana content… the scene in question isn’t as clever as I thought it would be and I feel a lil weird about it. Anyway hope you like the next couple of chapters o.o

Zim zipped around the house dramatically for a few minutes as if pulling himself together to go out, yet at the surface he seemed to be pretty much doing nothing. Zim never struck Dib as the kind of person who became disorganized, but maybe it explained why he’d been on Earth for half of Dib’s life and still hadn’t enslaved humanity.

Dib silently watched him for a few minutes. He wondered if Zim was experiencing the effects of whatever drug he’d taken. If that was the case, he might as well oblige and get high with him. He fumbled with his weed, breaking it up on a notebook laid over his knees.

“Do you have an empty Poop can?” he asked when he realized he hadn’t brought anything to smoke with.

“Why do you want garbage?” Zim paused his weird scrambling to look at him scrutinizingly.

“Just an aluminum can.” Dib felt entirely like an idiot again. All the more reason to get stoned and focus on the weed instead of the self-doubt, he decided. “I know you probably don’t drink soda, but your robot does, right?”

Zim shrugged. “If we generate garbage, I put it into my de-atomizer right away so GIR doesn’t try to eat it.”

Somehow this struck Dib with a hint of jealousy. He wished he had the motivation to get rid of his garbage even in the darkest days. When he’d gone into the hospital, his entire apartment had been filled with trash. His computer desk alone had been barricaded by a wall of Poop cans. All that executive dysfunction and yet now he had not an empty can in sight.

“Do you have _any_ hollow metal thing I could smoke out of?” he tried, wondering if he should give up until he could get his hands on a proper bowl. But if Zim was going to have his alien drugs, he wanted to be high with him.

“You can use GIR,” Zim gestured to the dancing, twirling machine.

Dib looked at it and it waved back at him. “I don’t think I want to poke holes in something that’s basically alive…”

“GIR’s full of holes already.” Zim said. “GIR! Come show my human your head!”

The robot obliged, climbing into Dib’s lap and tipping forward to open panels on the top of its head. Indeed it was hollow inside – a metal grate in the center of the head cavity would’ve been a plausible place to make a bowl, too.

“I really don’t think I should do this,” Dib said when it fidgeted in his hands, humming and giggling. “I _can’t_.”

“I’s not good enough!” The robot wailed suddenly. Little metal fists came up to punch itself in its little metal face.

Dib hurriedly set GIR back onto the floor. It was like a scene out of the psych ward. The difference was that the punches sounded like raindrops on a tin roof rather than the squishy crunch of a human face.

“Nobody said you’re not good enough, GIR,” Zim scoffed in irritation, yet spoke gently to the machine. Then he turned to Dib and offered an explanation. “GIR’s had some self-worth issues ever since it was deactivated and ripped apart for scraps.”

There was none among them who wasn’t broken, it would seem.

“Right… Look, I’m sorry.” Dib tried speaking to the machine the same way he’d spoken to the other man in the psych ward who’d also started punching himself one day. That particular disagreement had been over who got to use the yellow crayon. Oddly, Dib found that he cared more about GIR’s feelings than his fellow adult psycho.

He held his hands out to the robot. “I just didn’t want to hurt you. If you really want me to, um, smoke out of your face…? I will, okay?”

“Okay!!!!” the outburst ended as suddenly as it had started. The now gleeful robot stomped over and climbed back onto the couch, kneeling at Dib’s side, obediently leaning forward and opening its head.

Dib gritted his teeth and packed a hit inside GIR’s head while it whistled a jaunty little tune. He tried to remind himself that there were plenty of things wrong with his and Zim’s relationship, things that went beyond mutually abusing a somewhat sentient robot. If he could swallow an ovipositor, he could get high out of a willing machine.

He inspected the small head for a place air could pass through. The only open hole in the face that seemed connected to the head port was its mouth.

Ashamed, Dib closed his eyes, reaching into the head cavity with his lighter in hand.

“Aw, yeah!” GIR screamed. “Lookit, Master! He’s givin’ me kisses!”

Dib reopened an eye to glare at Zim, who couldn’t contain his amusement any longer.

“Do it!” Zim ordered with a grin, smugly crossing his arms. “Unless you think you can’t handle it.”

Now Dib had a point to make. Boldly he pressed his lips against the robot’s mouth. He lit the bowl and tried to get it all down in a single breath. Sour smoke filled his lungs. He choked like the lightweight he was.

Dib wheezed while Zim howled with laughter. He was absolutely sure he could taste the rancid taquitos GIR had eaten earlier.

The robot was already happily dancing again.

“I kissed a human, and I liked it!”

“Have some more,” Zim prompted wickedly.

“I’m good.” Indeed, Dib’s eyes watered from the hit—either way, he wasn’t ready to put his mouth anywhere near the robot again.

“Are you going out with me or not?” Dib prompted when Zim stalled a minute longer.

“Eh, well, you see… I don’t have any special personal accessories,” Zim said weirdly, eyeing Dib’s thick-soled boots. “Will this affect the legitimacy of my documentation on Social Media?”

Dib was torn between teasing him further into self-consciousness, and between wanting to move forward with the damn date. The latter won out this time—he’d pick on the alien’s vulnerability later.

“You look nice, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” he said boldly.

Zim studied his face, notably suspicious.

“That sounded like a compliment! Was it?” he said, almost taken aback again.

“Zim, I promise you I find you attractive,” Dib said defensively.

Zim contemplated the notion for a moment longer before attempting a compliment of his own.

“You are cleaner now than most humans are in their entire lives.” He grinned at his own effort.

Soon the wig and contacts were in place and GIR was being lectured about keeping after the house. Zim stood in the doorway and pointed to the street.

“Hurry up and show me this date thingy!” he barked. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough already!”

Dib didn’t argue, but he knocked the wig out of place as he passed by Zim on the stoop.

“Disobedient human!” Zim scolded him, scurrying to Dib’s side when it was fixed.

A woman with a tumor on her head stood in the yard one house over, watering a single, yellowed patch of grass.

“I am participating in a Normal Human Love Date!” Zim announced to her when she waved at him. He pointed to Dib furiously. “See? I have a romance partner of my own now.”

“Aw, that’s cute!” the woman crooned, the stream of her garden hose splashing onto the sidewalk while she watched them go.

Dib flinched when she gazed at him. Zim seized a handful of his coat and gave it a hard tug, urging him forward. Then it struck him—he’d been introduced to Zim’s neighbor, definitely confirming something along the lines of a relationship.

Dib floated off of the taquito-flavored hit and let Zim lead him down the street.

* * *

Scrutinizing, contact-obscured eyes looked all over the small eatery, searching for things to be disgusted by. Zim announced his opinion as the pair shuffled ahead in the line.

“This place is _dirty_!” he proclaimed loudly enough that Dib was sure the whole restaurant heard it.

“It’s not!” Dib cringed as eyes landed on him. “We’re about to order. Did you pick something yet?”

“You seriously intend to eat here?” Zim replied, incredulous.

Dib wondered at last whether he should’ve planned this better. Zim seemed perfectly insistent on having a bad time. But Torque had recommended this restaurant, and besides his own interest in copying Torque, Dib was determined to get Zim to eat something.

Their turn came. Dib stood at the register while Zim stared at the roasted meats hanging in the glass case.

“Is there any way you could do something like a barbecue sandwich but with tofu instead of pork?” Dib tried to be as polite as possible with his impending snowflakey order. “Can I have no cilantro, and jalapenos on the side?”

The clerk rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’ll go ask the cooks.”

Beside him, Zim laid gloved palms against the hot display case. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the glass. A second later he yelped and jerked away from the case. Dib could’ve sworn he saw a wisp of steam from Zim’s face.

“Did you pick something?” Dib prompted him when the clerk came back to finish their order.

“Eh… give me one of your finest pork-cows!” Zim barked at the girl running the register.

“Did you even look at the menu?” Dib grumbled.

“Of course I did!” Zim scoffed. He squeezed in front of Dib at the counter. “You! Food drone! Give me a glass of room-temperature sugar water. With a straw!” He slammed his fist on the counter. “Do it now! I am Zim! My order takes precedence over all others!”

The cashier flinched. Dib offered a submissive glance at her.

“Can we just get like, a side of plain rice noodles, too?” he asked. “You’ll have to excuse my, uh, my boyfriend…? He’s just really _hangry_ right now.”

When they’d found a table, Dib covered his face while Zim wiped his chair with a stack of paper napkins.

“You’re being obnoxious,” Dib pointed out. “Why would you think it’s okay to talk a cashier like that? She’s at her job.”

“That’s how everyone ordered when I worked at Schloogorg’s,” Zim shrugged. “I thought I was quite patient with that _pathetic_ food drone.”

As soon as he said it, the girl who’d taken their order was standing beside their table with their drinks. She set the plastic cups down on the table so hard that they splashed and rattled the silverware.

“Your sugar waters.” She deadpanned at both of them.

“Took you long enough!” Zim replied while Dib tried to sink into his chair and become invisible.

Despite his embarrassment, Dib couldn’t help but curiously watch Zim fuss with the water. He swirled a spoon in it, lifting it to his mouth. The worm-like tongue lapped at it. For the millionth time in his life, Dib wondered how anybody could believe that this freak was a human.

“Bleh! These idiots have no idea how to make sugar water!”

Dib dipped a finger into his glass and tasted it. His had been sweetened, too.

“A chef I know said their food is really good here,” he said to assure himself as much as Zim. Meanwhile Zim seized a fistful of sugar packets and opened them all at once, dumping them into his glass and furiously stirring it together.

“I’ll tell you what’s _truly_ obnoxious!” Zim said some time later when he’d sweetened the beverage to his liking. “All those mods on your order! Why order something if you don’t like the way it’s supposed to be prepared?”

“_Mods_?” Dib repeated the foodservice term, amused. “I didn’t realize you were paying attention.”

“Nothing was more ridiculous at Schloogorg’s than those _people_ and all their _mods_. ‘Gimme a slydoodeedoo but hold the blood.’ ‘I want a plooka but go ahead and kill it before you give it to me.’ What’s the point of ordering something if you don’t like the way it’s intended to be served? Just get something else.” Zim ranted quite passionately.

“Why do you care?” Dib couldn’t understand why he should defend his choices to someone who didn’t even want to be here.

“It’s an insult to the Frylord who created the recipes,” Zim reasoned. “Why should you, a service drone, know better than someone whose function is to design yummy food?”

“I’m sure half the people that come in here ask for no cilantro,” Dib scoffed, even more confused as to why Zim’s asinine scolding actually made him feel bad. “Anyway, Torque said his girlfriend is a vegan and she substitutes tofu here all the time.”

“_Torque_?” Zim repeated the name suspiciously.

“Torque Smackey, from middle skool.”

Zim pondered, recollecting. “Yes, I remember the Smackey child and his large, juicy lungs— and his even juicier _fists_. What does that plodding steer of a human have to do with your menu-related arrogance?”

“He’s my manager at MacMeatie’s. He’s basically a chef, so he knows a lot about food. He’s the one who said I should take you here.” Dib explained while Zim inspected a thumbprint on his glass and pretended to be terribly bored. “I guess I should’ve mentioned what a _particular_ guy you are.”

“Hm. _Torque Smackey_…” Zim squinted and repeated the name darkly like he was making a mental note.

Before they could argue any further, the clerk from the register returned, her tray laden with their food. She offered each of them a wary look as she handed over the plates.

Dib studied his plate. The tofu had made it into the bread, but the sandwich was also stuffed with cilantro and jalapenos.

“Uh…”Dib turned to ask about it but the clerk had already beelined it to the back. “Great, you were so rude to her, she took off and now I can’t get my sandwich fixed,” he grumbled to Zim instead. An impulsive thought filled his mind of seizing Zim’s stupid sugar water and splashing it down the front of the equally stupid pink uniform—he dismissed the idea quickly before it became a reality.

The man he was before he’d been hospitalized would have done it. That man would’ve laughed watching Zim writhe and shriek while the water singed him in all those weird articulated crevices. Even now, an uncomfortable grin crept onto Dib’s face.

“What do you expect when you demand so many accommodations?” Zim replied obliviously, poking at the bowl of noodles with his sugar spoon. If only he knew what he’d narrowly avoided. “What is this disgusting _mess_?”

“It’s a really basic carbohydrate,” Dib mumbled while picking the cilantro off of his sandwich. There had to have been two cups’ worth packed in there. The mistake seemed intentional. Dib shot Zim a glare—surely the kitchen staff had heard about the alien’s rudeness.

Zim, to his credit, investigated the bowl sincerely, lifting it to his face, perhaps smelling it. The spoon was steadied carefully and he poked at the noodles, shuffling it around the bowl as if to look for some flaw.

Dib sighed and pulled out his phone. A few minutes’ research later and he found images of a hydrocarbon chain. He offered the screen forward for the alien to study.

“That’s what it is,” he explained. “You can digest that, can’t you?”

“I’m getting there!” Zim snapped, shoving the phone away. He at last selected a single, thread-like noodle, draping it over the back of the spoon and turning it in the light. He glanced at Dib when he realized he was being leered at. “If you’re so eager about this place, why haven’t you eaten your sandwich thingy yet?”

“I have to pick all the cilantro off, no thanks to you,” Dib replied.

“Eat it the way the cooks made it! They know what they’re doing!” Zim ordered.

“No! It tastes like soap!”

“Then order something else next time!” Zim said, finally bringing the noodle to his mouth and attempting to bite at it. Most of it dropped to the table. Zim recoiled looking at it and laid a napkin over it.

Dib rolled his eyes and went over his work one last time, picking a jalapeno off and smelling it.

“What’s wrong with _that_ ingredient?” Zim demanded. “Does that one also taste like cleaning products?”

“I love jalapenos, but I’ve had a lot of _throat trauma_ lately, _Zim_,” he explained pointedly.

Zim ignored him and picked at the noodles further. He selected another, somehow less offensive one and attempted to get it to his mouth. He tilted his head back. Half of the noodle laid across his cheek.

“Stop staring at me!” he snapped when he realized that Dib still hadn’t taken a bite of his sandwich, too enrapt watching the alien struggle.

Dib finally tasted the sandwich. The tofu definitely tasted a little old. Perhaps Torque had taken his vegan girlfriend here on a busier day. Regardless he soldiered through the bite—he had a point to make and certainly wasn’t ready to let Zim think he’d been right about something.

The alien made his way through a second noodle, getting the hang of the limp food.

“This is bland!” Zim reached for another sugar packet. Having put it all in his water, he picked up an artificial sweetener and studied the label.

“That’s fake stuff,” Dib warned. He leaned over to the unoccupied table next to them and snagged the sugar dish. “Here.”

Zim offered a lingering, gentle glance before grabbing two more packets and dumping them over his noodles.

“Is that… good?” Dib watched Zim pick out a single sugar-encrusted noodle.

Zim said nothing, wrapping an arm around the bowl and pulling it closer to himself, huddling over it. Dib watched him. The worm-like tongue lapped at the spoon and he wondered how sensitive the appendage was. He’d certainly like to find out. Zim’s head snapped up to glare at him, so suddenly it made him flinch. “Stop staring at me!”

“I’m not!” Dib lied, looking to his forgotten sandwich.

Zim slammed the spoon onto the table, standing up furiously.

“I said_, stop staring at me_, or I’ll hunt down every living member of your family and I’ll force you to watch me while I rip off their limbs one by one!” Zim shouted.

“Zim! I’m not staring!” Dib insisted frantically, meeting the eyes of every other diner who’d glanced over to watch the commotion.

“Not you!” Zim growled. He pointed across the restaurant. “_Her_! That fat monster!”

Dib whirled around, horrified. No person stood where Zim pointed. For a moment he was relieved, then he saw the movement. A cockroach of unusual size scurried down the wall. It lifted off and flew into the kitchen on pale little wings.

“Ha! I knew that would scare her!” Zim boasted. Then, he turned back to the girl at the counter, yelling to her as well as the rest of the surly-looking kitchen staff who’d come out from the back to see what the noise was about. “Food drones! I’m finished eating, take the rest of this mess away from me!” Then, much softer, he turned to Dib and smiled like a friendly uncle. “Hey, do you want a box?”

“No…” Dib curled up in his chair, wishing he could melt into the floor.

“You hear that, you pathetic excuses for food servants? You dishonor the title of your Frylord! My love-pig asked for no soap leaves! Cook his food correctly next time!” Zim carried on, actually climbing up onto his chair.

Dib buried his face in his hands.

The rest of the ordeal did not last long. The restaurant even graciously compensated their meal—although it was under the conditions that they never return.

Dib wished he could bounce back from getting thrown out as easily as Zim did. The alien held his head high and walked a pace ahead of him on the sidewalk. He let Zim strut away alone and plunked himself onto the bench of a bus shelter they passed. A solid minute passed before Zim dashed angrily back down the sidewalk, pointing accusingly when he found Dib sitting there.

“What’s wrong with you?” Zim demanded. “I walked two blocks before I realized you weren’t with me. You missed a great anecdote about me.”

Dib gazed at him. His hands trembled. A weird, dissociative haze had settled on him from the dramatic situation in the restaurant. It was another minute before he realized his blurred vision was from a thumbprint on his left lens and not an actual sick-headed fog.

“Ever since you took my heart out, I can’t have a proper anxiety attack.” Dib spoke aloud as he fumbled through his backpack to find a lens wipe. The care of his glasses was a methodical ritual that was soothing in its familiarity. “Not that I _want_ to have one. But I keep feeling like I’m on the verge of one. I wish it would just happen and be over with.”

Zim watched silently while he ripped open another suspicious foil packet. Dib carefully pulled off his glasses and cleaned whatever restaurant grease had gotten on them in the altercation.

At last the alien commented on the spectacle.

“I can fix those for you,” he said.

“They’re fine, I’m just cleaning them.” Dib held the glasses aloft to squint through one eye and search for any particles he’d missed.

“I meant those defective eyeballs.” Zim spoke casually. “I could even install ocular implants three times as powerful as a normal human eye.”

Dib did not turn to face him until his glasses were securely back on his face, settled into the worn spots on the bridge of his nose.

“No thanks.” The glib reply elicited an irritated scoff.

“I wouldn’t even have to anaesthetize you! What are you so afraid of?” Zim insisted.

Meeting Zim’s gaze made him realize that the alien, more so than anyone else, should’ve understood how he felt about having a protective shield over his eyes.

“If I had a problem with wearing glasses, I would’ve had it fixed by now. And if I ever _do_ decide to get ocular implants, I’ll have my dad put them in. He’ll do a better job than you because he won’t be creaming his shorts over performing surgery.”

Contact-obscured eyes narrowed but Zim was silenced for the moment.

Dib resigned himself to the fact that the anxiety attack wasn’t coming. There was no point in being anxious about having anxiety. He didn’t need a therapist to tell him that.

“Did you get enough to eat?” he asked instead of arguing any further.

“Yes. I feel more energized already.” Zim patted his stomach for effect. “Seriously, I don’t want to return to another place like that.”

“Well, I could stand to find something else.” Dib replaced his backpack and stood from the bench. “Come on, this date isn’t over yet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 15 summary:  
Continuation of prior chapter. Zim encourages Dib to smoke weed out of GIR’s head. To his credit Dib hesitates but does it after GIR’s feelings get hurt. Zim calls Dib by a term of endearment to a neighbor. Later, Dib takes Zim to a restaurant per Torque’s suggestion. Zim is super rude to the staff and lectures Dib for ordering a substitution. Lots of bickering. Dib has some intrusive thoughts about being violent to Zim. Long descriptive scene of a lunch date with lots of goofy arguing. Eventually Zim gets them kicked out of the restaurant. Dib has a little anxiety but pushes onward…


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I didn’t realize it had been so long since I'd updated…
> 
> Anyway, thanks for getting this far. I am really impressed that folks are into this weird project of mine, but I’m glad! Hope the season is treating you guys well.

In a convenience store, Dib picked all the cheese taquitos off the hot rollers and grabbed a pack of sugar wafers for Zim. After some thought, he added a yellow sports drink and a straw to the pile. At the register he selected a glass pipe for himself and tried not to grimace at the cashier’s gentle smile.

“Your little brother?” the clerk nodded at Zim, who was studying the colorful scratch-off tickets through the plexiglass counter.

“My boyfriend.” Dib tried to stay proud as he made the assertion, even as the clerk made a point not to touch him when he handed over his bag.

When they were back on the street, Dib led Zim down an alley and explained the significance of the route.

“There was some big construction site here that got abandoned because the hole filled up with water. Gaz wanted to take a bunch of pictures for a skool project, then it ended up being our spot to get out of the house for the summer. Pretty sure I saw some sort of plesiosaur monster in the water, too.” Dib smiled recollecting the good times that year. It had been a long time since he’d returned to this place.

He was surprised, then, to see the vacant lot paved and outfitted with a small playground area.

“This is all new…” Dib tried to explain apologetically. Luckily, the backlot-turned-park was empty besides them. They found a bench and sat together in the quiet place.

To his credit, Zim seemed content with the situation. He sat on the bench and looked around, nodding at the setting. A moment later he produced his phone from some pocket on his uniform and held it at arm’s length.

“Be more attractive for my documentation of our human date activity.” He ordered while he made a stupid duck-lipped expression.

“I don’t want my picture taken!” Dib said, crossing his arms and shielding his face with his hand.

“It’s just for Big Social Media! What’s wrong with you?” Zim said, dropping the pose.

“I had a bad falling-out with a dark paranormal society,” Dib said, softly, studying Zim’s phone and wondering whether the microphone on it was active. “I can’t have accounts on those sites because I don’t want to be found by those people.”

Zim scowled at him.

“Who would want to find _you_? You’re too egotistical for an unaccomplished food drone.” Zim said, but he put the phone away without further argument.

They sulked together for a moment. Dib glared at Zim’s stupid wig and fake-looking contact lenses. It still shocked him that anybody could fall for the ridiculous disguise, although he wondered if the appearance bothered him because he found the ruby eyes and animated antennae so much more intriguing.

Dib was determined to find some success in the date. He dug into the convenience store bag. Zim stared at him wide-eyed when he thrust the candy and beverage into his hands.

“_What_?” Dib prompted when Zim continued to gawk in disconcerting silence.

“You’re giving me snacks…” Zim said softly. There was a weird reverence in his voice. He squeezed the roll of candy, wringing it in his hands like a prize.

“Why are you emotional about that?” Dib laughed.

“I’m not emotional!” Zim shouted. But he looked serious as he continued to speak. “Snacks are an important gift in Irken culture.”

“Okay. You’re welcome, I guess.” Then he took the gesture further by opening the sports beverage for him and placing the straw into the wide mouthed bottle. He held his breath and watched Zim sample the drink.

The pink tongue slipped past Zim’s lips, wrapping skillfully around the straw to steady it in the full drink. Dib fantasized about the possibilities with the prehensile appendage and squeezed himself through his pants.

“Why are _you_ emotional?” Zim asked, smacking his lips.

Dib ceased what he was doing and pointed to the drink, blushing. “Do you like it?”

“It’s salty,” Zim said neutrally. “It reminds me of a supplement they give to smeets.”

“Oh. So I bought you baby food?”

Zim unwrapped his candies and selected an orange-colored wafer first.

“Your snacks are sufficient, Love-Pig,” Zim assured him. Several more of the coin-shaped candies were crunched between sandpapery rows of teeth. He carefully rewrapped the candy and it disappeared into the PAK. The beverage remained cradled between his claws.

It was a blissful moment. Dib played some music on his phone while they feasted on their convenience store bounty.

“I never really liked metal until Torque got me into this band,” Dib talked absentmindedly to fill the lengthening silence.

“This music is annoying and repetitive.” Zim scoffed when Dib mentioned Torque. He snatched the phone before Dib could protest, scurrying on his PAK legs while Dib reached for the stolen phone.

Dib scoffed when his phone was returned and he saw the playlist Zim had selected. “Toast Malone? How is that less repetitive than UTENSIL?”

“When I socialize with _normal_ humans, we listen to algorithmically-pleasing autotuned sequences.” Zim explained. A moment later he moved in such a way that it almost looked like he was dancing to the overplayed song. Despite everything it was oddly cute to see him participate with the human music.

“You’ve changed a lot since we were in skool together,” Dib sighed.

“As have you.” Zim scowled, ceasing the movements. He folded his arms behind his back stiffly. “For instance, you’re annoyingly large now, and you smell worse than ever.”

“I’m glad you’ve noticed how tall I am.” Dib sneered.

“You’re _large_, not Tall.” Zim corrected. “You don’t know the first thing about being Tall. It has _nothing_ to do with height.”

“Sounds like the same thing to me.” Trying to provoke him further, Dib snatched up Zim’s drink and took a big sip through the straw.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Then sit down and drink it!”

“No! You’ve contaminated it!”

Dib set down the drink. He rose from the bench as another autotuned summer jam came on.

“Then dance with me.” Dib had no issue getting in Zim’s face after years of fighting with him. If it was anyone else, he knew he wouldn’t have been so bold.

“You’ve made your point. I’ll sit!” Zim tried to return to the bench and yelped when Dib grabbed his hands. “Release me!”

Dib knew that Zim could’ve pulled free from his grasp if he really wanted to. By now he’d come to know the strength in the unassuming frame. Instead, Zim tugged loosely at his hands and let Dib mockingly swing him back and forth. Green lips peeled back and he bared his teeth while they swayed ridiculously in the empty park. Despite this, he seemed uncharacteristically patient throughout the whole thing.

“He’s not as bad as I thought,” Dib said of Toast Malone as the song ended.

“I _hate_ that popular human music,” Zim disagreed, crossing his arms. “Just listen to your Torque-metal and imbibe your stinky herb drug.”

Dib thought of the mysterious pink liquid Zim tucked into his PAK earlier.

“What was that stuff you took earlier?” Dib asked while he unwrapped the new glass pipe.

“Just a stimulant…” Zim shrugged. He had yet to sit down, instead shifting his weight from foot to foot like he was anxious.

Dib held the bowl up to the light to admire the lime green stripes down the barrel. He felt like the coolest dude ever having a smoke in the park. Years of being an isolated loser slipped away—at least for the moment that he was lighting up.

Zim fidgeted. “Is it good?” he asked when Dib coughed on a hot lungful.

“_So_ good. Too bad you can’t have any.” Dib choked on the words.

Zim glanced around the park, his gaze landing on the playground equipment near their bench. He pointed at the horizontal tube connecting the ends of the structure. “Burn your herb in that encapsulated space and I will try to absorb some of it.”

Soon, they found themselves climbing on playground equipment together. Dib wondered how the scene would look to an outsider, especially since one of them passed for a child, and decided he was grateful that there wasn’t a heavy police presence in the area.

Zim sat comfortably in the cramped playground tube while Dib hugged his knees. His hair crunched forward in his face. He looked nervously to Zim.

“So, Irkens breathe oxygen? Do you absorb it through your knees or something?”

Zim scratched his chin, wearily eyeing his companion. “Eh… I probably shouldn’t show you such a vulnerable organ…”

Dib shuffled in the cramped space. His boots clunked cumbersomely against the hard playground fiberglass.

“Will you kiss me?” Dib tried to help the awkwardness. The technicalities of establishing consent still needed work. But Dib had to be sure—Zim was so rigid it was hard to tell whether he was enjoying it.

Zim’s eyes were cold even as the green lips parted. Dib braced himself against the curved bottom on the tube, cradling Zim below him. He drowned in the flavor of ozone.

Zim writhed in his grasp when they broke the long kiss.

“You taste like that disgusting cheese food.” Zim grimaced as he shoved Dib off of him.

He glared and avoided Dib’s gaze, moving to lift the hem of his uniform tunic. His back arched and he hiked it up further, past his waist to expose the segmented abdomen. The underbelly continued all the way to a flat pectoral plate. On either side of his torso, Dib saw two folded, soft-looking orifices.

Zim continued to look away and traced gloved fingers around the organ on one side.

“They’re sort of… difficult to look at,” he said softly.

Dib leaned closer until Zim pulled away nervously. Even at some distance he could see uneven discoloration evident of repeated scarring.

“That looks like it was painful,” Dib tried to be sympathetic. “Was it, um… fry oil?”

“That too. It was the chemicals they used to clean the flat-top grill that disfigured it so badly it didn’t heal properly. It’s so corrosive at a boiling temperature, I think it singed my DNA.” A wild-eyed grin spread across his face as he described his torment. He laughed creepily to himself even as Dib hugged his knees closer to his chest.

The way Zim continued to stroke the area suggested a certain degree of sensitivity remained despite the repeated trauma.

Dib reloaded his pipe and smoked, leaning over Zim again and exhaling a hot, opaque breath over the gill-like organs.

“Does that feel good?” Dib asked with interest as Zim stroked the breathing organ on the other side of his body.

“I’m encouraging blood flow in the scar tissue!” Zim defended, although he grunted and arched his back a moment later. “That herb does have a sort of… tingly effect…”

“Yeah right, you’re getting off!” Dib grinned and reached to touch one of the gills.

Zim shoved his hand away. “Burn your drug, human!” He barked. Fingertips rubbed circles over the sensitive points. “This was never so carnally gratifying before you did the fuck to me… My PAK wasn’t designed to distinguish sexual sensations. Everything’s so easily stimulated!”

“Are you sure it’s not all those stimulants you took?” Dib choked through the remnants of the bowl and made another even as the playground tube was filled with gray-blue smoke.

The second hit in a matter of minutes struck Dib too strongly and he clutched his head as he coughed out the lungful of fire.

The anxiety that threatened for the last few days all seemed to pour out at once, flooding him with alertness and clarity. He knew something was wrong when he noticed the flaws in the texture of the playground structure. The sight of Zim rubbing his glands suddenly made him feel nervous and guilty instead of turned on.

Reality hit him of how blindly and quickly he’d moved in the budding relationship. The rapid changes in his life overwhelmed him and suddenly he wished he’d skipped the last hit.

“Now what’s wrong with you?” Zim stopped touching himself and sat up to study Dib’s face.

“Nothing!” Dib struggled to lie. He trembled and hugged himself. A tightness in his guts felt like the threat of needing to puke. Full tilt anxiety finally hit him. He tried not to wheeze. “I’m kinda freaking out. I smoked too much just now.”

“You’ve overdosed?” Zim yanked down the uniform tunic and scrambled to his knees.

“You can’t overdose on weed,” Dib asserted, perhaps for his own comfort. “I’m just too high.”

The anxiety was like anticipating some traumatic event that never came. The delayed emotional repercussions of everything he’d done since flushing his medication all came tumbling down on him at once. Shock from the fact that he’d hooked up with Zim, disbelief at the fast food job, horror at the invasive surgery—it all shook him and made him shiver and worry.

Observant eyes studied him, assessing the situation. Zim stiffly bridged the gap between them. A small shoulder pressed against Dib’s side as Zim huddled near him.

Dib had smoked more than this before—the eighth he’d bought from the retail shop in years prior went up as a couple of blunts that had caused him to raid the pantry like a bear in a campsite and then promptly sleep for ten hours. Two bowls in a row shouldn’t have hit him so hard, unless the drugs from the psych ward had fucked up his sensitivity, too.

He tried to focus on the small figure huddling beside him. Zim seemed to be returning the favor from earlier. Dib acknowledged the mirrored experience.

“You’re warm,” he sighed, bringing an arm over Zim’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

Zim grunted a reply. His arm reluctantly came to rest at Dib’s waist.

The intimate moment did not last long. Zim jerked suddenly, tearing out of Dib’s grasp. Dib sighed dejectedly until Zim jerked again, harder, flailing in the small space.

“What are you doing?” Dib asked, still wracked with anxiety.

Zim thrashed, his head banging against the side of the playground equipment hard enough to knock his wig off.

“Eh… this is normal,” Zim squeaked out as he stopped thrashing for just a moment. Then he stiffened and jerked again. “All the _cool_ humans are doing it.”

Dib panicked when he realized what was happening. The weed must’ve had a dramatic neurological impact on the weird Irken physiology. He tried stupidly for a moment to fan the smoke out of Zim’s face. After a moment he realized the pointlessness of the action and he grabbed Zim’s flailing arms instead. An unfamiliar strength filled him and he dragged Zim out of the structure, somehow lucid enough to remember to grab the wig on the way out.

When they were back out in the cool, fresh air, Dib knelt on the ground and held Zim in his arms, trying not to completely hate himself with each tremor wracking the small body. He was close enough to hear the PAK put off a sharp hissing noise. Zim gave one last rigid, electrified contortion and then groaned weakly against Dib’s chest.

“I don’t like that herb drug of yours…” he declared at last in a ragged voice.

“I didn’t think you were going to have a seizure from it!” Dib whined.

To his surprise, Zim rolled closer to him, not only staying in his embrace but burying his face in Dib’s shirt. Exposed antennae tipped forward to tuck themselves in the fabric as well.

“I hate you,” he said softly.

“I know… But, why do you mention it?” Dib asked, equally soft.

“For the first time in my life, compliance is challenging. It never was until I experienced recreational mating. I wish you’d never begged me to fertilize you.” Zim explained sadly.

“I didn’t beg you to fertilize me.” Dib said, missing the point.

Zim rolled out of Dib’s arms, staring at the sky overhead. The artificial pupils contracted into pinpricks in the sunlight. He gazed upward with that strange, quiet distance.

If there was anyone who understood what it was like to be lonely, it was Zim. Dib had never considered this until now. In so many years of refusing to know Zim beyond thwarting his plans for world domination, he’d never considered that there might’ve been other reasons Zim was so far away from home.

It seemed pointless to try to comfort him, nor to try to get him to open up about his troubles. Dib wished they could return to the simplicity of the moment in the playground equipment. It had been the only point on their date that Zim acted like he was actually having a decent time.

Dib told himself Zim wouldn’t have tagged along unless he really wanted to be here. Regardless he still felt like being affectionate with Zim caused as many problems as fighting with him.

For this reason Dib was surprised when Zim huffed and pulled himself to his feet. Minutes after having a seizure, the alien effortlessly stood from a laying position without putting a hand on the ground. He set the wig in place and stood in front of Dib with his fists on his hips.

“This can’t seriously be the only thing you planned for our date activity. You’ve disappointed me so severely, I might have to reconsider bringing you a souvenir.” Zim was noticeably more energetic than he’d been before. Maybe getting zapped back to life by his PAK released another hit of his stimulant. “Entertain me before I find something else to do!”

“What’s this about a souvenir?” Dib asked, not sure why he was suddenly concerned.

“Eh? Oh… I mean, yes! I absolutely meant to tell you about that now!” Zim backpedaled like he hadn’t realized what he’d said.

Dib stood. He needed a more comfortable stance to be vulnerable in.

“Don’t tell me you’re just packing up and leaving Earth now that I’m your boyfriend instead of your mortal enemy!” Dib stammered.

“And abandon my mission? You think I’d do that over _you_?” Zim laughed aloud. He carried on laughing for an unreasonable amount of time, even as Dib crossed his arms and stepped closer to lean over him.

“I’m glad I’m _so_ tall now,” Dib said loudly over the laughing.

Zim, predictably, stopped and scowled.

“Physical height has nothing to do with Tallness,” Zim argued.

“So you’ve said.” Dib scoffed. “Anyway, where are you going if you’re not leaving Earth?”

“Oh, I’m leaving this floating trash heap.” Zim shrugged. “I have business far away from here, in _civilized_ space.”

“Can I come with you?” Dib asked shamelessly.

“Obviously not!” Zim said sharply.

“What? Why?” Dib whined even more shamelessly.

“Just because you don’t _feel_ like you’re recovering from surgery doesn’t mean you’re healthy enough for interstellar travel.”

Dib scowled and turned away, stalking back out of the park. He knew he was acting truculent, but something about being excluded made him feel like a hurt kid.

He could hear grumbling and footsteps several paces behind him. He slowed down so that Zim could catch up and wondered why he was so sensitive about being separate from Zim’s personal world. He’d spent his entire life excluded from the nuances of the alien’s business. Why did he feel entitled to be a part of it now that he’d had his dick in him?

“How long will you be gone?” Dib asked, defeated.

“No more than one of your Earth weeks, maybe less.” Zim said calmly. “Every few years or so I have to leave to pick up supplies. There are some minerals I need that I can’t get delivered to this solar system.”

Dib shrugged, willing himself to remain unbothered. There would be other chances to go to space with Zim—he was sure of it. He didn’t want to compromise those chances by sulking further and pissing Zim off.

“When are you leaving?” he asked.

“Whenever this Dib-date human ritual is over.” Zim said.

Dib forced an assertive smile. “Then I’ll have to make the most of this date, huh?”

To Zim’s chagrin, he lurched forward and grabbed a gloved hand.

“Release me!” Zim hissed, pulling at the grasp.

Dib grinned. “You want a picture for Big Social, don’t you?”

The sun set by the time the pair ambled down Dib’s street. Zim sipped at his drink and clutched his phone, checking his social media again and again. Dib reluctantly made good on his promise and let Zim take the damn selfie. Zim only lasted a minute or so before he started babysitting the phone.

“You’d probably get more likes on it if you’d actually smiled,” Dib teased him, watching Zim refresh his feed for the second time in the same minute. It was too familiar. Dib remembered the feeling from his days of posting his paranormal photography. He wanted to pick on the alien for it—he wondered if Zim even knew what he was doing.

“How many hours do you spend on Big Social every day?” he asked randomly. “Be honest.”

Zim shrugged. “Just a few. Sometimes more.”

“Really?” Dib was intrigued but not entirely surprised.

“I have spent entire evenings studying it. When I discovered that humans built their own planetary internet cable system, I realized that I had to study _every_ piece of information being catalogued on there.” Zim explained. “It’s been _years_ and I still haven’t caught up. Not that I haven’t been working at it ceaselessly, sometimes for days at a time!”

At last Dib allowed himself to laugh at the mental image of an exhausted Zim frantically scrolling on a bank of active phones.

“FOMO is a _human_ condition,” Dib said when Zim continued to stare at his phone.

Zim cringed.

“Impossible!” he hissed. “I knew there was something sinister lurking beneath the surface of all this freely accessible information!” He prodded at his abdomen. “How can this be? How could I have become infected? I don’t _feel_ sick…”

“Internet addiction is a mental illness,” Dib added.

“_You_ must’ve infected me, then!” Zim pointed accusingly.

“It’s not an infection.” Dib laughed off the accusation. “It’s a habitual thing. You spend one night sitting in front of a screen, and all of a sudden you’re totally dependent on internet validation.” Dib scoffed self-righteously. “I don’t waste _my_ time with that stuff.”

Zim gave the phone in his hand a wide-eyed, vulnerable look. He quickly opened his settings and started uninstalling apps.

“You don’t have to do that!” Dib said, realizing his guilt. “I was just teasing you!”

“I will not be victim to this human FOMO illness!” he spat back quite defensively. “This was supposed to be a research project! Now I’m infected and I’ll turn into an emotionally needy attention slave like the filthy humans! Noooo! I am Zim! Zim needs no validation!”

Once his social media was uninstalled, he opened his camera roll and began deleting all of his photos. Dib spotted more selfies with the wig and contacts, and several attempts to take a non-blurry shot of GIR wearing its puppy costume. He came to the recent one of them together—Dib recognized his own nervous posturing and arm slung over the alien’s shoulder.

He reached for the phone to stop him. Zim yanked it away, scowling.

“You don’t have to do all this!” Dib pleaded.

The look Zim gave him was one he had not seen since they were kids. The contact-covered eyes were brimming with anger and hate. Dib felt like his middle-skool self just dashed by and dumped a cafeteria tray over Zim’s head.

“Listen, the reason I don’t have social media is because I don’t need a public profile to know that everyone hates me.” Dib said honestly. “That’s probably why you’re not getting feedback on your picture. All your ‘friends’ aren’t happy that you’re dating me.”

Zim studied his phone.

“Hm, it’s true that most humans who know you dislike you. Meegin insists that you’re _toxic_. Although I’ve assured her that I’ve yet to find any toxins within your body.”

Dib didn’t want to know what kind of conversations Zim was having with the other students about him.

They had strolled and talked for so long that Dib could see his house at the end of the block. Quickly he realized he was not ready for the date to end. He didn’t like that it bothered him to think that he wouldn’t see Zim for a few days. Two weeks ago he hated Zim enough to throw eggs at his head. Now he was thinking about whether Zim had accepted the title of his ‘boyfriend.’

“What’s wrong with me?” Dib groaned aloud realizing again how quickly he’d been moving.

“I can think of a few things.” Zim distractedly sipped his sports drink. It was hard to tell that he’d been panicking only minutes ago.

Dib wished he could move on from things like that. Maybe he wouldn’t be so wimpy about Zim going somewhere. Even when he’d tried to drive Zim away, he never considered that Zim would actually leave. Instead he’d spent those years wondering what it would be like to _capture_ him…

Zim caught him staring. He must’ve been wearing a creepy expression. The sports drink was forgotten while Zim stared back suspiciously.

“Do you want to come in?” Dib pointed to the house they stood in front of.

Zim rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested in witnessing more of your sickening family interactions. Besides, I have to return to my base and prepare for my trip.”

“This isn’t about my family.” Dib insisted. He wondered if was late enough that Gaz had shut herself into her room for the night.

He hoped so. He might be part-time at MacMeatie’s, but he was still a full-time paranormal investigator, and he decided he needed another look at those alien breathing gills. For _research_.

He knew that Zim could somehow perceive his arousal, so he pondered all the things he’d like to do to him. He thought about kissing the spots on Zim’s sides until his cock paid attention.

Zim squinted at him. The tip of the tongue flicked past his lips. “Hm… Hm!” Zim grinned and chucked the last of his sports drink over his shoulder. The bottled rattled loudly down the street.

“That was unnecessary…” Dib sighed.

“Onward, Love-pig!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 16 summary:  
Date continues. Dib buys Zim some snacks and it’s a big deal. They hang out in a park for a minute and Zim decides to try some weed after all. They crawl into some playground equipment and Zim shows off his breathing organs + some Schloogorg’s scars. Dib gets uncomfortably high; Zim has a seizure from the weed smoke. Things get vulnerable for a minute. Zim reveals that he has plans to leave Earth for a few days. Dib gets butthurt about not being invited. Later, Dib teases Zim for his fascination with social media. Zim is self-conscious and deletes all his info on his little phone. Dib invites Zim up to his room at the end of the date. Prelude to smut!!!!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kick off 2020 with a little smut!  
(idk if anyone wants this but here is a reference for "the bug noise" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jbZq7M4xPQ )

Dib sat on the floor of his childhood bedroom and pawed through his suitcases, searching for a source of distraction. Now most of the bags’ contents were strewn about. Technically he hadn’t consciously unpacked, but the room was as trashed as it had ever been when he’d lived here.

To his surprise, Zim looked over his old prototypes with interest, studying his handiwork with trained eyes.

“That was supposed to be an arm-mounted particle accelerator. My dad was doing something similar at the time so I tried to improve his design, I guess.” Dib explained. “I got tired of working on it because it kept scalding the gravitons.”

“Hm. Impressive.” Zim said flatly.

“Really?” Dib blushed.

Zim held the device to the light, turning it over to look at it closer.

“Well, a smeet could build a more complex collider… but for a human, your work is very advanced. I especially like the way you do your hand-soldering.”

“I’m glad you noticed that! Some people are so lazy with their soldering! I like to… take a lot of time… on my…” Dib sputtered when Zim put aside the device and laid a gloved hand on Dib’s thigh.

“Love-Pig.” Zim met his eyes somberly.

Dib swallowed to hear the petname.

“If you can find some way to do the fuck to me without exerting yourself, you should hurry up and do it. Otherwise I will leave to prepare for my trip.”

“Okay, sorry!” Dib hissed. He closed the space between them, catching Zim’s lips and sighing gratefully into the kiss. Zim must’ve been waiting for it, too. The long tongue was already sliding down Dib’s throat.

He tried not to choke even as Zim’s hands tightened around his neck. How long would it take for him to completely lose his gag reflex?, he wondered, latching onto Zim’s wrists and sucking on the tongue that filled his mouth.

This finally elicited a groan from the alien. Zim seemed caught off guard, so Dib held on tight and rolled onto the floor like a crocodile with a jawful of meat. Zim snorted and sputtered beneath him, clearly offended to be pushed around. Still, his mouth fell open and he groaned while Dib sucked on the weird tongue.

At last Zim drew up his knees and pressed the soles of his boots against Dib’s chest.

“That still hurts!” Dib cried out while Zim kicked the healing stripe down his abdomen.

Zim had already wriggled out from under him, easily contorting to fit through the space between Dib’s arms and knees. Bending unnaturally and crawling on the floor made him look even more like a bug, especially as he yanked off the wig and crammed it into his PAK. Then he peeled the contacts away and blinked fluid off the surface of his eyes, rubbing presumably tired eyelids. Dib’s eyes watered sympathetically just to watch it.

A moment later, Zim stood and pointed to the bed. “This seems more pleasant than the floor.”

“I thought you liked seeing me down here…” Dib tried to be coy.

“Just get up there!” Zim practically wailed, exasperated.

The silly twin-sized mattress made Dib feel like a dumb kid. He berated himself for waiting until his twenties to finally sneak someone into this room.

At least Zim was small enough to comfortably share the space. Dib was soon distracted from pondering his failings as an isolated teen when Zim crouched beside him and retrieved a little device from his PAK, which he promptly jabbed against Dib’s chest on the raised point that Dib had guessed was a data port. A screen on Zim’s device displayed some incoherent statistics which the alien studied and pondered over. Dib froze and watched it all happen, creeping a curious hand forward to rub at the implant when Zim pulled away.

“What’s it saying?” Dib asked of the readout on Zim’s scanner.

“Your inner abdominal muscles haven’t completely healed yet. Too much exertion and your intestines could herniate.”

“Thanks for telling me _now_! I’ve been lifting stuff at work!”

“Hm, I hadn’t considered that. If you’ve survived _that_ you could probably handle doing the fuck. Very well, I’ll humor you. Prepare your reproductive organ and get it over with!”

Dib reached forward to stop Zim from yanking down his uniform leggings. “What do you mean, _get it over with_? What do you think I am, an animal in heat?”

“You do act like it’s some kind of _need_.” Zim crossed his arms. “So, I’ll let you have what you want. It’s not that bad, and you’re so much faster about it than the humans in those internet tutorials I watched.”

“Is that what _you_ want?” Dib scowled.

Zim scowled back, antenna flattening defensively.

“Why do you care?”

“Everyone involved should enjoy what they’re doing! That matters on this planet!” Dib said sharply.

“Yes, you humans are _so_ proud of how considerate you are, and how _gentle_ and _weak_ you are.” Zim held his head high but Dib recognized the shift in his attitude.

“You said you wanted to have sex again. So tell me what you want to do and we’ll do it. Otherwise you should just leave, because I won’t do it with someone who doesn’t want to be here.” After some consideration, he meekly added, “Anyway, I’m not _always_ so fast about it.”

“In that case I’ll leave.” Zim stood quickly and marched to the door.

“Okay, I’m sorry! Will you stay?” Dib wished he hadn’t mentioned it.

“Ha! Yes! Beg, human!” Zim dashed back to the bed, climbing to stand on the edge and point down at him. “You’ve disobeyed nearly every order I’ve given you since I’ve accepted you as my love-pig. You’ll have to impress me if you want me to _consider_ allowing you penetrate me again.”

Dib couldn’t help but grin in relief at the return of the dominant posterior. Hearing Zim talk like he’d never been stripped of his rank felt like a special privilege.

“Of course. What do you want me to do?” Dib moved to huddle in front of where Zim stood.

Zim’s fists rested on his hips. “Get smaller.”

Dib obeyed, getting it right the first time, lying face-down at Zim’s feet. The sole of a boot wedged itself against his shoulder.

At last Dib had figured out what Zim had been fixated on earlier. He strained to turn his head and wheezed around a mouthful of the comforter.

“You’re so _Tall_ when you’re up there.”

“Hm!” Zim smiled quite genuinely and tapped at his chin. “Yes, I think you finally understand!”

Dib chuckled to himself for having figured it out. “How can I please you… um, Tall guy?”

Zim openly reveled, for a moment wrapping his arms around himself and allowing himself to grin giddily.

“My PAK isn’t encoded to experience sexual stimulation. I was hoping to develop some alternate neural pathways.” He explained excitedly. At Dib’s silence, he sighed and explained it another way. “Arousal sort of registers like a pain sensation for me, at least neurologically.”

“I didn’t know that!” Dib apologized into the mattress. “What can I do for you?”

“The first thing you can do is stop pestering me to let you have the fuck constantly!” Zim drove his heel into Dib’s collarbone for emphasis.

“Ow! I just wanted to compliment you!”

“I don’t care! It’s annoying.”

Dib grumbled but bided his time, gazing at Zim’s distorted silhouette through the edge of his glasses.

Zim stared back at him, antennae still lowered.

“I want it. I don’t know how to enjoy it.” He admitted.

“Well… I’d like to help.” Dib pondered where they’d been earlier and thought it was a good place to start. “Can I touch you on your breathing glands?”

Zim didn’t respond for a few moments. He shyly rolled the hem of his uniform.

“Fine. Don’t be all dumb and rough with your big, meaty Earth hands!” he warned.

Dib didn’t wait for permission to sit up once the foot lifted from his shoulder. He caught Zim’s hand and met his eyes.

“Can I level with you? I’ve wanted to see you naked for _years_. Is that creepy?” He said eagerly.

Zim tore his hands out of Dib’s grasp. He shoved Dib back onto the bed, knocking the wind out of him as he landed uncomfortably on his back.

“Stop making noises!” he shouted at Dib’s hurt expression. Even as he scolded, he reached behind himself, undoing a closure on the back of his uniform tunic.

Dib forced himself to obey, holding his tongue while he watched Zim undress. Removing the upper part of the clothing seemed complicated, like it wasn’t intended to come off very frequently. The PAK raised slightly from its place on Zim’s spine, and the metal base underneath slipped away, proving to be part of his uniform instead of his body.

Boney green shoulders revealed themselves. Zim stretched the segmented neck, bending to let a fold at his collarbone spread. Gloved fingers moved to trace over the area.

“Here,” he spoke softly.

“What is it?”

“A sensory organ,” Zim shrugged. “It’s another one that’s particularly agonizing when it gets burned. That should mean it’s nice to be touched there.”

It took Dib a solid moment to realize that Zim was waiting for an affirmation.

“I think so?” Dib tried, watching Zim trace his fingers over the spot. “I mean, it hurts to get poked in the eye, but that doesn’t mean you’d want to get fingered there.”

Zim actually gave the comment a nod of consideration, then climbed the rest of the way out of the uniform.

He knelt on the bed at Dib’s side, still wearing his little gloves. His leggings came all the way up his waist, sitting just under his chest.

Dib couldn’t help but grin. “Do those girls you hang out with ask you where you buy your clothes?” he teased, bringing a hand up to pull at Zim’s waistband. “You look like you’re going to meet them for hot yoga after this.”

Dib’s hand was slapped away.

“Hm… My human social circle is too _woke_ to care about superficial matters of Earth fashion.” Zim bluffed while he tugged at one of his gloves.

Dib studied the hands that were revealed. The rough texture he now recognized from the scars on Zim’s breathing organs. He decided it was best not to ask. Perhaps noticing Dib’s gaze and his silent patience, he offered up some information.

“The grill-cleaner made them look like that.” He spoke softly, moving to allow Dib to touch his palm. “Chemicals disfigure you, fry oil just cooks you until pieces start falling off.”

“…off?” Dib repeated.

“Off.” Zim affirmed. At Dib’s prolonged silence he grinned sickly. “Once, my fingers broke off into the oil and we could never account for one of them. I think someone ate it.”

“Jeez!” Dib cringed even as Zim laughed at the disgusting image.

“Is that a jealousy reaction, human?” Zim continued to grin. “Does it bother you to know that someone more accomplished than you injured me in ways you’ve never even fathomed?”

“Not in a _jealous_ way!” Dib whined. Discussion of losing body parts in fryers had obviously killed his erection. Zim finally gave up trying to horrify him and settled closer, sinking onto the bed to curl up under Dib’s arm.

“Is it unattractive?” Zim laid one of the hands in question on Dib’s chest so he could further inspect it.

“No, but it’s not funny either.” Dib took what was offered, clasping the long, segmented fingers and turning the hand over to lay a kiss on the palm.

He could feel the muscles contract like Zim was fighting an impulse to pull away. Dib fought his own impulse to tease him for it.

Zim shuddered when Dib’s lips parted around the tip of one finger. His antennae twitched and pointed. He whined and ripped himself out of Dib’s grasp. A moment later he crawled off the bed and stood pathetically with his arms wrapped around himself.

“What did I do?” Dib scoffed.

“That… sucky thing!” Zim recoiled, staring at his own hand.

It was hard not to take the dramatic reaction personally. Dib tried to remind himself that Zim had plenty of reason to be sensitive. He probably acted like that because it felt _good_. Pain amused him in its familiarity; pleasure was a new experience that disturbed him. For this reason Dib tried not to be offended when Zim pointed at him accusingly.

“Where’s your phone?” he hissed.

Dib wordlessly produced it from his pants pocket.

“Turn it off! Now!” Zim ordered. The pointing hand returned to prudishly shield his torso.

Dib powered down his phone in guilty silence. He really couldn’t be mad that Zim was nervous about it, especially since he seemed so much more vulnerable about what was exposed this time.

“It’s off.” Dib reported.

“Let me see.” Zim reached out for it.

Dib realized his mistake as he handed it over. Zim grabbed it and scurried to the window, throwing it open and chucking the phone out into the night.

Dib leapt off the bed and squinted into the darkness.

“You suck, Zim!” He groaned, remarking that the phone was off and could not be found by calling his own number.

“Maybe you’ll remember that the next time you decide to start taking pictures!” Zim replied.

Dib knew he didn’t have a fair argument, and he didn’t want to miss the chance with Zim and spend the rest of the night looking for the damn phone. He helplessly glanced to his computer and wished he’d thought to set up a hidden webcam before bringing Zim here.

That type of thinking was why Zim didn’t trust him.

He turned to leer instead of lamenting the missed opportunity. Really experiencing it was better, anyway.

He moved slowly so Zim could brace for him, bringing his hands around Zim’s shoulders. Delightfully, Zim pressed back against him.

Dib tried not to worry about the whereabouts of his phone, distracting himself by helping Zim arrange a pillow so that he could comfortably lay flat. It was quite a sight, especially as Zim held himself shyly in the center of the bed. Wide ruby eyes flicked frantically around the room.

“I’m really feeling the effects of that stimulant now,” he explained at last when Dib hesitated.

“I get it.” Dib agreed. He reluctantly rose to turn off the overhead light, gathering a few things from a suitcase on his way back. He could’ve used some silence-killing music, but he wasn’t about to ask Zim to put something on and get stuck listening to Toast Malone all night.

“What’s that?” Zim asked curiously at the goods Dib carried to the nightstand.

“It’s lubricant, okay?” Dib gave up trying to explain it without completely turning Zim off.

He shoved his glasses assertively up his nose, determined to take in what he could in the dark room. Zim languidly reached for the bottle and studied it in the thin strip of moonlight coming through the bedroom window, dismissively tossing it aside as moment later.

Dib dove after it, setting it back on the nightstand when he found it on the floor.

“Come here!” Zim ordered. This time he didn’t flinch when Dib climbed over him, although Dib swore he saw him gulp.

Dib kissed him again, bringing a hand forward to tentatively touch Zim on the place along his collarbones. He barely grazed the soft organ and Zim shivered beneath him.

“Is that okay?” Dib reeled back.

“I’ll tell you when to stop!” Zim barked, still trembling.

Certainly, Zim would tell him— Dib accepted it and pushed onward, touching it again, firmer this time. Zim at last let out a small groan when Dib stroked the area, latching onto Dib’s wrist to keep his hand in place.

Zim practically rubbed himself against Dib’s hand. It was painfully apparent that he hadn’t done anything like it in his whole life. Dib savored the moment, studying the soft fold beneath his fingers. He desperately wanted to know what sensory purpose the neck organ served, but decided to save the scientific questions for another day.

Instead he crouched nearer, withdrawing his hand to pull Zim closer to himself. He knelt between Zim’s legs, hoisting him up by his hips. Then Dib reached forward again, dragging his fingertips down the breathing organs on Zim’s sides.

The woody chirruping squeaked past Zim’s lips for a moment, then he coughed and grumbled like he was clearing his throat.

“I like that,” Dib said of the noise once it stopped. Zim stared at him curiously. “It’s cute!”

Antennae folded back as Zim shrank against the pillow.

“You actually _like_ it?” he asked shyly. “It’s so annoying.”

“Feel this.” Dib gestured to the front of his pants. Zim curiously met Dib’s eyes as he grabbed at the obscured erection. “That’s what hearing it does to me.”

Zim nodded. A moment later quick fingers undid Dib’s fly. Skin on skin made him sigh and push against Zim’s bare palm. Knowing he was being studied, Dib made a show of himself, languidly thrusting into Zim’s hand.

“I knew someone who was injured in his reproductive vent,” Zim pontificated casually while he stroked Dib’s cock. “He couldn’t help but make the noise while we removed the shrapnel. Our commander told us, ‘Don’t ever let a female hear you do that or you’ll end up incubating a whole platoon.’ Heh, that guy was funny.”

Dib cringed, softening in Zim’s grasp. Now was not the time to ponder the nuances of gender roles in alien societies.

“Can you talk about something besides your disgusting war stories?”

“Hm! I would’ve never tolerated such insubordination from my soldiers.” Zim scoffed. Even as he spoke, he lifted his hips off the bed and pulled down his leggings. Now his uniform lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed, two little boots kicked off as a final touch.

Zim sprawled on the bed, stretching so that Dib could see every little line and segment in the poreless green skin. Getting accustomed to the eyes on him, Zim gestured for Dib to come closer.

“Say it!” Zim ordered.

“Say what?”

“Call me—,” Zim almost swallowed the word. “_Tall_.”

“Oh… well, how does it work? Like, you’re so Tall right now…?” Dib tried to work his way around the weird honorific. “You’re Tall… when you let me touch you and fuck you?” Zim at last cracked and raised an antenna coyly. “You’re really Tall when you step on me.”

Zim grinned. “You make it difficult to maintain correct discipline, Dib-human.”

Dib blushed at the agonizing intimacy of being called by name. He settled next to Zim, wrapping an arm around him to hold him while the other instinctively fell between Zim’s legs. Zim huddled nearer. Antennae tipped forward to feel at Dib’s face.

Dib tightened his grasp on the raised swell at the base of the segmented abdomen. He met Zim’s eyes while he searched for the soft split. Zim shivered. Dib held back for a moment, trailing urgent fingertips just past the opening of the strange organ.

Both men shifted to find a natural angle. Dib pushed his fingers deeper until Zim groaned and scrambled for purchase against the loose bedsheets. He reacted so dramatically but never said to stop, so Dib kept it up. To his delight, the little buggy noise returned. It was soft like Zim was trying to stifle it, so Dib slowed his pace and dragged it out. Zim huffed almost indignantly and bucked his hips forward.

Dib sighed and watched the alien shamelessly fuck himself on his fingers. He moved to see it closer and was struck by a shock of chilly air on wet clothes. He looked between them. Glistening fluid soaked Zim’s legs and the front of Dib’s pants.

Dib gasped in horror, pulling away. At Zim’s confused scowl, he gestured to the mess.

“You’re bleeding again!”

Zim studied himself, looked to Dib’s face, and then laughed heartily.

“Did you think it was blood this whole time? Why are you so guilty? No wonder you’ve been obsessed with that insertion lubricant.” He looked genuinely charmed by the innocence of the confusion. Nonetheless he still laughed at Dib’s misunderstanding.

“I’m getting a towel.” Dib blushed and tried to sit up to escape the embarrassment of his sudden revelation. Zim continued to snicker about it. “Males on this planet aren’t wet like that, okay?”

Small hands easily overpowered him and pulled him back to the bed.

“I didn’t tell you that you could stop!” Zim pinned him to the mattress. PAK legs extended to hold him down while he fumbled with the scanner and pressed it against Dib’s chest.

“Now what?”

“I’m just seeing how you’re holding up,” Zim said casually. He nodded at the readouts and snatched up the box Dib had brought to the nightstand. “Is this more of those genital cover thingies?”

“Yeah…” Dib cringed at the sharp metal legs so close to his face. The shock from thinking he’d hurt Zim again had killed another boner. He shamefully met Zim’s eyes.

Zim withdrew the metal legs and thrust the box of condoms at Dib to hold onto. Then he crouched over him and wrapped long, segmented fingers around the half-hard cock, quickly solving the problem.

Dib tried not to feel too scrutinized as Zim closely studied the application of the condom. His hands were shooed away as soon as they’d completed the task. Zim crawled closer, standing over Dib’s hips to steady himself over the human’s cock. Zim shoved the scanner device at him.

“Hold that over your implant and tell me if any of the text turns red!” He instructed.

Dib tried not to cringe at the uncanny, piercing gaze. Zim stared back at him challengingly while he rubbed at himself. Fingers spread the small opening. Then in one quick movement he sank onto Dib’s cock, crying out in an unmistakably shocked way.

Dib tried to hold the scanner when he remembered that he had something in his hand. Above him, delightfully, Zim’s cries softened.

The alien organ was blindingly tight. Zim composed himself and braced his feet on the bed. He lifted slowly, experimenting with the new angle. He slipped back down and gave into a chirruping sigh.

It was too much to handle. Dib distracted himself by glancing at the scanner even though he couldn’t help but press up to meet Zim’s hips.

The PAK legs extended again, this time to brace against the wall and floor beside the bed. Zim’s antennae draped limply over his face—his mouth fell open and his tongue whipped out lewdly.

Dib could feel the dampened sheets sticking to him. He abandoned the scanner on his chest and wrapped his hands around the bony green hips. He thrust seekingly into the stretched organ, ditching Zim’s earlier pace with a desperate fervency.

Now he was sure Zim was exaggerating the noise just for his sake, but it was lovely to listen to either way. His fingers dug sharply into the narrow waist and his fogged glasses slipped down his face while he gritted his teeth and came.

He was still groaning when he realized the furious pounding on his bedroom door.

“_Other people live here_!” Gaz shouted through the wall.

Dib blinked the stars out of his eyes and wondered where he’d gotten so lost in it all that he’d forgotten his surroundings.

“Take your smelly female presence elsewhere, Dib-sibling!” Zim shouted back, hardly reflecting the shameless mess he’d been only moments earlier.

“_You guys are being gross and totally disrespectful_!” Gaz’s muffled frustration came clearly through the door.

“You’re gross and disrespectful!” Zim repeated back.

“_Shut up, Zim! You don’t even live here_!”

“Go away!” Dib wailed exhaustedly, hoping that he might actually get to experience a blissful post-orgasm cuddle with Zim one day.

Dib laid back and closed his eyes, trying to calm down when his sister finally left them alone. “I have to get out of this place…” he sighed aloud as if Zim cared about his struggles. “I can’t believe I’m living in this room again.”

Zim gazed down at him from the place where he’d settled beside him. There was almost an affectionate tenderness in his eyes. Then he ruined the nice image by holding up the used condom. He must’ve snatched it up during the chaos with Gaz.

“Just throw it away!” Dib blushed looking at it.

“That’s a lot of viable DNA.” Zim seemed genuinely disappointed.

“Don’t bother. It’s already been cloned once and look how well _that_ turned out.”

It was hard to bounce back from a second round of humiliation, but it helped when Zim returned to curl up beside him, fitting neatly under his arm when he laid next to him.

Dib rubbed circles along Zim’s shoulders and let his eyelids sag tiredly.

“Don’t do that yet!” Zim barked.

Dib flinched, waking up. “Huh?”

“I haven’t experienced the come-orgasm!” Zim insisted. “If we keep going now, it’s possible that it could happen within the next several hours!”

“_Hours_?” Dib whined.

Zim didn’t reply but wriggled out of Dib’s grasp and hunted down the scanner, taking Dib’s information once again.

Dib half patiently, half guiltily laid still and let Zim look over him.

“You’ve completed the phases of human arousal without opening any of your wounds. Good job.” Zim nodded at the readouts. “Next time I will allow you to do that weird humpy you’re so fond of.”

“Does that mean you liked it?” Dib prompted.

“Hm… I’m going to leave this with you, since it matches your implant.” Zim dodged the question and gestured to the scanner. “You’ll be in incredible health by the time I get back. As long as you don’t do anything stupid, of course.”

“Oh…” Dib sighed remembering that this would be their last night together for some time. He wrapped an arm around Zim’s waist and yanked him closer.

“Hey!”

He buried his face in Zim’s lap. Zim cautiously poked at his hair.

“You have no idea how nice it’s been to escape from this shit with you, even if it’s just for a little while.” Dib admitted softly. “Thanks for getting me out of here today. I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone.”

“I will need someone to visit my robot periodically,” Zim said, surprisingly nice.

Dib grinned, wondering if GIR was to be coached in keeping after Zim’s human.

He curled up on Zim’s knee. He couldn’t remember falling asleep like that.

He awoke frantically, searching for the long-gone warmth. Zim’s uniform was missing from the floor. Damp sheets were enough evidence of his presence. Dib sat alone in the dark room, struck with a sudden loneliness. He hadn’t seriously expected Zim to say goodbye before leaving, had he?

Still, he couldn’t stand the feeling of being alone in the room another night.

He dug out a flashlight and crept out into the backyard to hunt for his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 17 summary:  
uh it’s weird to summarize smut  
Dib breaks the awkward ice by showing Zim some stuff, Zim sincerely compliments him (homage to that one scene in the pilot) before deciding that Dib’s healed enough to do the deed. Ongoing discussion of consent/Zim’s enjoyment. Expansion on that “Tall” dynamic. Literally paragraphs just describing Zim undressing?? More fryer horror stories and vulnerable moments. Many xeno details. Zim throws Dib’s phone out a window, but he rides earth D. Ends on a bittersweet note when they irritate Gaz. Dib falls asleep inopportunely + Zim bails.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 18 notes:  
I’ve realized that this fic has developed broader themes than what the summary and tags cover, so I’m trying to rebrand it a little bit I guess? I’m also REALLY bad at summarizing stuff and definitely rushed through it when I started posting chapters… 
> 
> Anyway, Zim’s not really in this chapter actually but he’ll be back for the next one. Thank you for reading!

The next morning, Gaz found him in the kitchen. She squinted at him and grumbled from the doorway.

“Now what are you doing?” she asked after some time, looking over the stacks of dishes he’d dirtied.

“Nothing! Just messing around.” He hadn’t expected to be caught in the middle of his project. A glance at his retrieved phone proved that he’d been at it several hours longer than he’d expected.

“I can see that.” She continued to squint, hunting down the wireless speaker in the kitchen and turning down the music he’d been blasting.

“That’s UTENSIL’s new album,” he told her gleefully, realizing that it was likely the reason she was already awake.

“What is this?” she ignored him and inspected the jars of colorful liquids he’d created.

“Uh… just some stuff for Zim,” he answered, embarrassed to admit it.

“Oh, you’re trying to poison him?” she smiled.

“Not this time. I just wanted him to taste some stuff he’s probably never tried.” Saying it aloud made him feel like an idiot. He opened one of the jars and held it out to her. “I had to get Foodio to help me… that’s one’s strawberry.”

She sniffed it curiously. Unimpressed, she looked around the kitchen at the mess he’d made.

“Can I ask you something? Since when have you been into metal, and smoking weed, and _cooking_?”

He scoffed defensively, although it took him a minute to think of a decent comeback.

“Is there something wrong with being into those things?” he spat lamely.

“Yeah. It’s annoying.” She finally pushed past him and grabbed a cereal bowl from the cupboard. “How long have you been awake?”

“Uh, a while. I couldn’t sleep.” He admitted.

“Oh, you too?” she said pointedly. “Yeah, it was a little noisy around here, wasn’t it?”

He cringed. “Sorry…”

“You guys are so rude. Even if Zim has no clue, _you_ should know better than that.” She went on. “I thought there was an infestation going on.”

“Heh, there was!” He couldn’t help his slimy grin.

“…gross.” She shuddered and stared at the cereal she’d poured, maybe having lost her appetite. “Seriously, that wasn’t cool. I should tell Dad about how you guys were acting.”

“Whatever. I’ve had to listen to you in the bathroom with that massaging showerhead.”

Her spoon dropped into the bowl. Her head swiveled dangerously slow and she glared at him in disbelief. She moved—Dib flinched even as she grabbed her bowl and retreated to her room.

“Come on! You know I’m joking.” When he was sure she wasn’t going to hit him, he followed her down the hall and dashed in front of her to block her path. “Look, I’m sorry I had Zim over last night. I didn’t think he was going to be that loud.”

“_That’s_ what you’re sorry about?” she rolled her eyes. “Get out of my way.”

“Wait! Do you want to go for a walk with me before I go to work?” he asked energetically as she pushed past him. Zim had been gone for less than a day, but Dib was already lonely enough to keep pestering his sister.

“Seriously?” she crossed her eyes and put on a stupid voice. “_Why don’t you go with your boyfwend?”_

“He’s… doing alien stuff.” Dib stammered, too embarrassed to confess that he had not been included on Zim’s outing. “Anyway, I want to hang out with _you_. It’s been a long time. I miss you.”

“That’s weird.” She said. When he didn’t back down, she sighed. “I have an essay due on Monday and I haven’t even started it yet.”

“Please, Gaz?” he grabbed her hand and stopped her from opening her door. At her livid expression, he tried, “We haven’t spent time together since before I got put away.”

At this thought her eyes softened and she finally relented. 

“Fine. But only because you’re being so pathetic about it.”

Being out on the street with Gaz again made Dib feel like it was the good old days again, long before that fateful incident in Soc 101. The only difference was that he was ranting about dating Zim instead of harassing him.

“I wish it was less creepy hearing you obsess about Zim now that you’re hooking up with him.” She said after he’d finished describing their date. “I still can’t believe you’ve come to terms with your crush on him.”

“I didn’t _used_ to have a crush on him!” he insisted.

“Sure.” She smiled briefly. Then, it faded. “Honestly… doesn’t it seem a little weird that he’d want to do all that dumb stuff with you? Just _hearing_ about it is totally boring.”

“What can I say, I keep him satisfied.” Dib smiled a greasy smile and waggled his eyebrows.

“Can you not? Anyway, don’t take this personally,” she continued. “I’m just wondering why he would suddenly start hanging out with you after all these years. Why would he _do it_ with a human? Isn’t he completely disgusted by us or something?”

“He did say he thinks of me differently than other humans…” Dib pondered aloud, remembering being called a superior specimen. “Technically he knows me better than anyone else on the planet. I think he’s really curious. He’s like, impotent basically. They’re really weird about it on his planet. He doesn’t know much about sex, and I think he’s using my body to try to learn about it.”

“So basically, you’re taking advantage of him.” Gaz nodded.

“I am not!” Dib insisted. “We’ve talked about consent and things. He knows what he’s getting into, I’m just saying he’s inexperienced. Anyway, _I’m_ the one who’s been getting implanted and stuff.”

She rolled her eyes. Her lengthening silence bothered him.

“Maybe he’s just attracted to me! Is that so hard to imagine? Huh?” he spat, annoyed. “Maybe _he’s_ always had a crush on _me_, and that’s why it’s different all of a sudden, because he just realized I’m an adult. Maybe _he’s_ the predator!”

“Okay, I get it!” she cut him off. “Sorry I asked. Congratulations on your weird bug sex, okay?”

They walked in silence for a few minutes. She moved on quicker than him, immersing herself in her Game Slave while he salivated over the rows of used cars in a lot across the street. Soon he stopped in his tracks, gazing at the vehicles. He visualized himself behind the wheel of one instead of taking the bus everywhere and paying with his card that might as well have “Psycho Pass” printed on it.

“Are you coming?” Gaz called out to him when he lingered.

“Can we walk around in there real quick?” He gazed longingly at the cars. “I have a _feeling_ about this.”

“Great, are you convinced you can sense auras and stuff again?” she asked half-seriously, but put away her game and followed him through the lot patiently while he flocked to each car.

“_Soon_,” he whispered to them, imagining driving away in each one he looked at.

Predictably, a salesman came out from the small office to keep an eye on them.

“Looking for one in particular today?” the salesman prompted after he’d watched them for several minutes.

“Just browsing,” Gaz said assertively.

That was when Dib spotted it. Parked in the back of the lot, covered in twigs and leaves, was a beat-up, ancient silver Bazda. It had a pink alien face hand-painted on the oxidized hood.

“Gaz!” he grabbed her and pointed.

“Cute.” She agreed when she saw it.

“You don’t understand.” He said frantically. “That’s _my_ car. Obviously.”

“Ooh, is it sending you telepathic messages?” she wiggled her fingers while she used the mimicking voice. “_Pwease dwive me, Dib_!”

“I’m being serious!”

“Me too!” She rolled her eyes but turned to the salesman. “Does that thing even run?”

“That?” the salesman looked to where she pointed. Then, he studied the pair of goth siblings and shrugged. “Well, I don’t finance _those_ cars, but I’ll let you take that heap off my lot for fifteen hundred.”

Dib trembled gleefully even as Gaz sighed beside him. He still had a grand in a savings account from before the hospital stay. Car ownership, and with it a sense of solvency, were more achievable than he’d realized.

“Excuse us,” he told the salesman, pulling Gaz aside and whispering to her. “Look, if you co-sign on that with me, I’ll let you drive it sometimes.”

She blinked, unamused. “It almost sounded like you just asked me to co-sign on that piece of garbage with you.”

“Gaz, please!” he pleaded. “I’ll pay you back! You know I’m good for it.”

“How much would you need?”

“Um, just five hundred. Well, and all the taxes, too. Plus I’d have to borrow some gas money from you until I get paid again.” He scoffed when she started to laugh. “I’ve loaned you money before!”

“Yeah, like five bucks at a time!” she said, unamused. “What happened to the rest of your savings?”

“Psychic readings are expensive…” He sheepishly admitted.

“We’re leaving.” She turned back to the salesman. “Thanks for your time! My brother is mentally ill, but we’re leaving now.”

He fumed as she led the way off the lot.

“What are you saving all that money for? Huh? A bigger massaging showerhead?” He barked at her, regretting it a moment after he’d said it aloud. He flinched and cowered when she whirled around to punch his bicep.

Clutching his arm, he turned back to yell to the salesman, desperate and in pain. “I’ll be back! Don’t sell that car!”

The salesman looked onward as if he’d heard a loud horn honking, then shrugged and went back into his office.

Dib ran after Gaz, catching up with her a block away from the lot.

“So _that’s_ why you wanted to hang out!” she snapped when he stood in front of her. “So you could ambush me and talk me into buying you a car?”

“I didn’t plan this!” he insisted. She shoved him out of her way and stormed past. “Hey! I’m sorry!”

“For what?” she turned and looked at him with menacing, unusually wide eyes.

“I’m sorry I asked you to co-sign on that car.” He tried.

“Wrong.” She said flatly and turned back around.

“Okay! I’m sorry for being a jerk to you.” He gulped when her shoulders tensed. “And I’m sorry for saying gross things to you, and for not telling you I wanted to have Zim over, and for like…” He sighed when he tried recount the multitude of times he’d wronged his sister. “…everything, I guess.”

“I’m going home. Are you coming with me?” Gaz said softly after a minute.

“Yeah.” He said, hanging his head.

“I have to get something at Shop-Aid on the way back,” she said when they walked together again.

He sheepishly and silently followed her. He knew he blew it asking about the car. He’d definitely crossed a line. But surely she could see by now that he was an adult and needed to start moving toward that kind of a lifestyle.

He split up from her in the drugstore, lingering by the long, glowing cosmetics wall. His eyes trailed over the visually satisfying rows of neatly organized colors. A little bit of indulgent self-care would be nice, he thought. Cleaning up his appearance would certainly help to shake some of the psych ward stigma off of him. He came to an interesting-looking brand and located a shiny black nail polish. He opened it and unhygienically painted a thumbnail, admiring it until he spotted the eight-dollar price tag. He scoffed—but it really did look like a good brand.

He pondered it. It just seemed ridiculous to pay so much for something so small. Something so easily slipped into a coat sleeve with just the subtle movement of a wrist.

He turned as casually as he could and took a quick glance around. He was alone in the aisle, so he kept his head low and sought Gaz out where she waited in line.

“What are you getting? _Girl_ stuff?” he asked.

“Wow… No, earplugs and melatonin, in case you decide to bring Zim over again,” she smirked.

“That’s dramatic. It was one time!” He argued. “We won’t do it again!”

“Okay, I _totally_ trust you.”

He didn’t want to stand around and listen to her sarcasm, especially with the nail polish still in his sleeve.

“I’m trustworthy!” he stammered, even as he spotted a vest-wearing manager crossing the store, staring at him. “I’m gonna wait outside, okay?”

He dove out the door before she could say another word. He knew better than to look back.

He huddled in the parking lot. It felt like an eternity, waiting for Gaz to check out. He backed into the bus shelter when he saw the Shop-Aid manager step out the front door and look around in the lot. Dib held his breath until Gaz came out. He dashed out and anxiously caught up to her.

“Hurry up, I have to get ready for work!” he pushed her when she stood on the sidewalk, checking her receipt.

“You have plenty of time.” She handed him a can of Super Poop she’d picked up on the way out. “What are you so anxious about?”

“I’m not anxious!” he said, flinching as a car drove by, half expecting to see the Shop-Aid manager behind the wheel.

When they made the journey home, he hid in his room and tried to keep his hands from shaking long enough to paint his nails. He’d just finished the last one when Gaz busted in.

“Hey! Knock!” he yelled, leaping to hide the bottle.

“I just wanted to know if you want some lunch.” She sniffed at the acrid air. “Are you working on something in here?”

“No!” he lied.

She looked at the abandoned particle accelerator and other half-finished projects on this floor. He’d forgotten about all the stuff after he’d showed it to Zim.

She seemed satisfied enough to see him doing something familiar. He relaxed a little when she turned back to him. “Do you want lunch, then?”

“Not really…” he stupidly peeked at his nails to see how they were drying.

“Is _that_ what I smell? Are you painting in here?”

“Get out of my room!” he snapped, bristling at the pointed questioning.

“Where did you get nail polish?” she asked directly.

“I had this.”

“Why were you in such a big hurry to get out of Shop-Aid?” Now he was sure she knew.

“Leave me alone! I told you to get out my room!”

“You stole that, didn’t you?” she stormed across his room to inspect the merchandise.

He lunged from where he’d been sitting on his bed, meeting her halfway. He stood over her, making sure not to cower under her smoldering glare.

“I think you seriously need to consider talking to that psychiatrist Dad is trying to hook you up with.” She insisted. “You’re out of control lately!”

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re super bitchy lately.” He replied, disturbed to hear her say it like that.

She shoved him in his chest, hard. One of her hands made contact with the outer part of his implant and he cried out in shock at the sudden pain, falling back onto his bed and writhing dramatically. Then he grabbed a pillow and launched it at her with his entire strength. The implant continued to burn; the pillow flew unexpectedly hard and hit her in the face.

“I’m telling Dad that you’re being a dick!” she yelped, ducking out.

Dib leapt back to his feet and tore after her, pounding fists on her slammed door.

“Fine! Go ahead and tattle on me like a little baby!” he screamed at her through the wall.

A long silence was his reply. Then he heard her squeak of a voice on the other side.

“_Hi, is Professor Membrane available? Yes, I’ll wait.”_

“Shit!” Dib hissed to himself and hurried back to his room. He visualized his father’s reaction to him doing something as stupid as shoplifting and paced hysterically, shaking and trying to figure out what to do next.

He tore through his room, stuffing all the necessities he could think of into his backpack. Nerves wracked him so hard that his knees trembled almost comically.

There was a chance that the Professor wouldn’t answer Gaz’s call. Before he could find out, he threw on his coat and bailed.

The day at work did not lend him a chance to catch a break.

Torque approached him a few minutes into the beginning of his shift.

“So? What did you think?” he asked.

“Think…? About what?” Dib replied uncertainly.

“UTENSIL’s new album, obviously,” Torque said.

“Oh. Wow, yeah, it’s pretty great,” Dib agreed, relieved by Torque’s smile.

“For sure…” Torque nodded. He pointed to Dib’s nails. “That’s cool.”

“Thanks! I’m glad you think so!” Dib blushed in a way that he’d never really experienced before. He’d never been praised by a friend. The good feeling did not last long, however.

“It’s kinda gross, though, isn’t it?” Torque prompted. “Having that on and cooking people’s food?”

“Um… well, we _are_ wearing gloves… and we wash our hands…”

“Yeah, I guess. But it’s against dress code.” Torque finally just said it straight.

Of course it would be, Dib thought. Especially after he’d completely fucked things up with Gaz over it.

Torque continued. “The reason I’m tripping about it is, I’m gonna put you on the registers tonight and the customers might freak out.”

Indeed, Dib was ushered to the front of the restaurant and set up in front of a touchscreen. It was coated in greasy fingerprints—but of course it was his nails that were the dirty part. He tried not to roll his eyes at the hypocrisy of the situation and attentively listened to his training.

It seemed easy enough. The first few customers all had simple orders and he got through them more seamlessly than he’d expected.

Then there was a lull. The restaurant emptied out for a moment and he stood helplessly at the register, glancing over his shoulder into the kitchen.

The cooks were standing in a semi-circle around Torque while he described his lesson from kulinary skool earlier that day. Dib found himself longing to be there, to be included. The peace he’d found in the job before now betrayed him; once again he felt like the isolated freaky kid he’d always been growing up.

For a moment he was relieved when Torque caught him staring.

“Oh, hey. How’s it going up front?” Torque asked with a friendly smile.

“Pretty quiet,” Dib admitted.

“Cool.” Torque nodded. Then, the smile dissipated. “So, you need to be working on something when you have down time.”

“Oh. Okay…” Dib glanced around at the empty restaurant.

“Go make a sanitizer bucket and wipe down the counters and register,” Torque instructed.

“Yes, okay,” Dib ducked his head and did as he was told.

“If you have time to lean, you have time to clean,” Torque continued.

“Okay!” Dib tried not to let on to his irritation, but he didn’t need to be lectured the entire time.

He could hear the cooks whispering and laughing behind his back while he stood at the sink. The feeling of being excluded tormented him worse as an adult than it ever had as a kid.

He forced himself to focus on the task at hand rather than worry about how much everyone hated him. By the time he was done, he was sure that the front of house had never been so clean. Each table sparkled, as well as the counters and registers. He sighed contentedly and looked over the hour of hard work.

The front door opened.

No less than thirty stinking people in ragged clothes started to file in. Dib dashed back to the register and looked helplessly to the sudden crowd.

“What’s going on?” he desperately asked the first dirt-encrusted bum to approach the register.

“Don’t you know?” the bum said. “The library closes early on Saturday, and the shelter opens late.”

“So… you’re all going to hang out in here?” Dib watched a woman hoist a stained sleeping bag onto a table he’d just finished sanitizing.

“Pretty much. Gimme a small fry and a small Super Poop.” The bum continued.

“That’ll be $3.72…” Dib replied, hardly hearing his own voice through the sudden daze. Certainly he’d long since forgotten to mention the promotional item.

The bum sniffled. He casually produced a yellowed tube sock from a pocket and turned it over on the counter while the mildewey smell of body odor and rot grew stronger. Nickels and pennies as well as many unidentifiable particles rained out. He slowly counted coins aloud while Dib watched another thirty or so people shuffle through the doors.

A line started to form. The second bum in line started to rock back and forth anxiously. Another in the line begin to moan. Dib did not have to be psychic or even crazy to sense the impending chaos. 

The increasingly impatient crowd began to get louder. Dib realized that the piercing sound he was hearing was ringing in his ears. He could not recall how much time had passed. At some point in the middle of it he saw Torque on the second register beside him. He could hardly hear the other man’s voice taking orders.

A lifetime later, the crowd dispersed. The lines ended. At last nobody stood in front of him, asking questions about the price and size of items. He hunched over the register, tunnel vision narrowed to see nothing but the fingerprint-covered touchscreen.

An increasingly irritated voice beside him at last caught his attention. Dazzled, he turned to find Torque scowling at his side, angrily shaking the sanitizer bucket at him.

“Huh?” he mumbled stupidly.

“I said, it you have time to lean, you have time to clean! Get a new bucket and wipe it all down again!” Torque practically shouted.

Dib gazed up into the man’s eyes. Being talked down to by Torque somehow didn’t seem right. Maybe Zim’s arrogance was rubbing off on him. It didn’t help that his back and feet ached from being locked in the same static position for so long. He glanced at the clock on the screen. Two and a half hours had passed.

His mouth opened and a voice that hardly felt like his own came out.

“Don’t I get a break at some point?”

Torque blinked at him indignantly but quickly stepped down.

“_We’re_ taking a break,” he agreed finally.

Dib locked himself in the bathroom stall when he was at last dismissed. He felt like an idiot for checking his phone so optimistically. Gaz was uncomfortably silent. Part of him had hoped for even an angry and scolding text. He decided to be grateful that he had not been contacted by his dad or by that creepy doctor’s office. Perhaps most pathetically, he’d hoped for a message from Zim. Even if Zim were in cellular range, he certainly wouldn’t be sending any cutesy texts.

Since the guy who’d removed his heart hadn’t messaged him, he opened up his camera roll to pass the time instead. It hadn’t become any easier to see the pictures from his surgery—he considered deleting them to spare himself, but he felt obligated to keep them as proof of what had happened to him.

Similarly, the excitement and awe of seeing a picture of Zim touching himself still had not worn off. The original picture held a different, more comfortable meaning now that he knew the liquid on Zim’s legs wasn’t blood after all. He quickly put the phone away and cut short his fantasizing before he got himself in trouble.

When he sheepishly wandered back to the breakroom, he found Torque in there, calmly but vigorously lifting his dumbbell. Dib sat quietly at the table and kept his head low. After a few minutes, he heard the metallic clunk of the dumbbell being shoved back into a locker.

“Hey, dude.” Torque’s voice made Dib flinch. The manager sighed and sat at the chair across from him. “I forgot about Saturday. Sorry your first time on register was like that.”

Dib forced himself to meet Torque’s eyes. The man seemed sincere enough, although Dib had learned as an ostracized child the dangers of trusting others. He decided at last that it wasn’t worth holding a grudge—this time.

“Is it always that bad on Saturday nights?” he asked finally.

“Sometimes it’s worse,” Torque said, nodding to himself. “It’s like that all day on Sunday.”

“Great.” Now Dib understood at least a little of Zim’s hatred toward the industry, although in his opinion the customer service aspect was far worse than the cooking. He found himself hoping his next shift would be spent sweating over a fryer instead of a register.

“Good job out there, though,” Torque added. “That got crazy for a minute. I thought you were gonna freak when that lady’s goiter bursted in the lobby.”

“I was trying to forget about that…” Dib sighed. Torque only chuckled, giving Dib a jarring pat on the back.

Despite making amends with Torque, the rest of the register shift went on for years. His back ached from leaning over the touchscreen. He could’ve cried on his way to the bus stop. The old pair of boots he’d selected as work shoes were simply too worn to offer any lumbar support.

Stiffly and painfully, he sat back and scoffed when he checked his phone again and found that Gaz still hadn’t messaged him. He pulled up her number to call at her and ask her why, but a moment of lucidity finally struck him and he put his phone away before he dug his hole any deeper. Now, without distraction, he was painfully aware of the poor choices he’d made that day.

Instead of going home to argue some more, he got on the bus heading to Zim’s side of town. Hopefully GIR would offer better company than his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 18 summary:  
Dib stays up all night trying to make something for Zim. Gaz calls him out for acting out of character. Dib provokes her and they bicker a little. Dib pushes Gaz to hang out with him; they go for a walk and discuss some moral questions about Dib’s relationship with Zim sort of related to zadr issues in general. Dib gets weird in a used car lot and tries to get Gaz to lend him money for a car. Later Dib shoplifts at a drugstore and has a big argument with Gaz. At work he gets put on the registers and has a very overwhelming day + a tense experience with Torque. zzzzzzz


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 19 notes:  
Oh yeah I forgot to mention that GIR is like non-gendered in this AU… Anyway have fun reading my weak attempt at extended GIR dialogue.

Dib lingered nervously in Zim’s phony living room. It was far from the first time he’d been in here while the invader was away. He braced for some sort of trap or security system to be triggered by his presence. When he’d frozen in place for so long that GIR got bored and wandered off, he at last relaxed. He studied the unoccupied couch for a moment and then flopped onto it like he’d lived there for years.

He hadn’t moved from the spot until GIR returned from another room. It clutched a rubber piggy over its head. Dib could admit that the little robot was indeed pretty cute when it did that sort of thing.

“Whatcha got there?” Dib rolled over to smile and be friendly.

The piggy squeaked as it made contact with his face a moment later, hitting him hard enough to knock his glasses off.

“Hey! What’s your problem?” Dib clambered for them just before they were stomped to bits.

“You will be destroyed!” GIR growled, its eyes glowing red.

“What did I do to you?” Dib whined, sitting up to brace himself just as the robot lunged at him.

“Master likes you!” it replied. “You’re a stinky Earth human! The enemy! Master is dumb!”

“Ow! I’m sorry!” even as he ducked, he remarked that Gaz still punched much harder.

“Aw, it’s okay!” GIR immediately stopped, its eyes returning to the familiar cyan. “You want a muffin?”

Dib shrank back into the couch when the robot left him alone again. When GIR was gone for some time, he retrieved a clean shirt from his backpack and changed right there in Zim’s living room. Some time later he realized he’d never been in the ground-level part of the alien lair long enough to explore. Curiously, he stood and wandered down the hallway.

When he got close to the alien materials he could spot the strangely artificial quality. Molding around the doors had a speckled texture instead of wood grain. He ran his hands along the smooth, metallic walls. Soon he was comfortable enough to try one of the handles. Surprisingly, it opened.

He readied himself and peered behind the door, finding an unfinished, featureless room no larger than a coat closet. He found the same behind the second door he opened. The third and fourth were the same too. Now it seemed creepy. He stood nervously in front of a fifth door. This one did not open when he tried it—he anxiously dashed back across the house to find GIR.

He came to a space which quite convincingly looked like a functioning kitchen. Indeed he found the robot there, making muffins no less.

“Are those real muffins? Is this a real kitchen?” Dib asked, watching GIR casually pop a muffin pan into an oven.

“Uh-huh. Master done it for me.” As it spoke, Dib noticed it was even wearing a tiny apron.

“He made you a kitchen?” Dib curiously opened a metallic cabinet. Though it looked like a fixture in a doctor’s office, it was stuffed with bags and canisters of store-bought Earth-originated ingredients. The packages were crammed in haphazardly, but everything appeared to be in some state of current use.

Not everything was entirely earthly. Only a few minutes passed before GIR opened the oven and removed the fully-cooked muffins. Even if the technology was alien, the food seemed normal enough. He studied the warm muffin that the robot thrust into his hands. It looked and smelled pretty good, actually—what was wrong with it?

He watched GIR immediately begin preparing another batch, studying the ingredients it was using.

“Are these gluten-free?” He asked with interest.

“Duh…” GIR seemed to have the measurements memorized, hardly paying attention to the simple repetitive task.

“Do you like to cook?” Dib prodded. This time he was ignored while the robot sang to itself.

“Muffins are cool! Muffins are cool…”

“I cook.” Dib continued to talk to it. “I do it for my job. Well, sort of.”

“Yeah I know!” GIR grumbled at him. “That’s why Master likes you better.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Dib stammered, anxiously remembering the last few outbursts from the machine. “He wouldn’t build _me_ a kitchen…”

The robot put its second batch in the oven. Dib took a hesitant bite of his muffin. It was better than he’d expected.

“Do I even _want_ to know what’s behind that locked door at the end of the hall?” he pondered aloud.

“That’s _mine_! You can’t go in there! Bad human!” It pointed, its eyes briefly flashing red once more.

“Okay, sorry!” Dib said, hoping he was acting non-threatening. “Thanks for the muffin! You’re really good at baking, GIR!”

“Aw, do you like me?” It lunged for him despite its change of attitude. “Gimme kisses too!”

Dib yelped and swatted at the machine clinging to his neck. Then, GIR froze. It suddenly released him to retrieve the second batch of muffins.

Dib questioned again whether this was easier than going home and confronting Gaz. He ate some more of the surprisingly good muffin and concluded that the robot’s outbursts didn’t involve calling his dad to tattle on him.

He took another muffin from the counter and headed back out to the living room. He crashed on the couch. Some time later, GIR wandered out of the kitchen and climbed onto the couch, assertively pressing itself against Dib’s side and turning on the TV.

“You’re more squishier than Master,” it commented, cuddling into Dib’s waist. It flipped channels for some time, watching a few minutes of each one for a minute or two before changing it. It seemed content to stay like that quietly, so Dib laid back and tucked his coat over himself like a blanket.

Fed and comfy, with some background noise to distract his wandering mind, he fell asleep. He didn’t know how long he slept, but it was far from being long enough. He awoke in a start to find GIR pressed against a hideous hi-def version of the Angry Monkey show, licking the TV screen. He checked his phone—the busses were running by now, but hopefully it was early enough that Gaz would still be in bed by the time he got across town.

After saying goodbye to GIR, he headed home to have a shower and gather a few more things he needed to comfortably camp out at Zim’s place.

He felt like a burglar in his own home when he got there, tiptoeing around trying not to be caught and yelled at. When he came out from his shower he saw a light under Gaz’s door. She must’ve been hoping to avoid an argument, too, because she did not come out, even when he was sure he could hear her moving around.

When he was back at the bus stop, she still hadn’t texted him. Didn’t she care about him? Not that he had any intention of texting her first to find out.

He made the trip back across town to, technically, his home away from home. He’d certainly spent a lot of time in Zim’s base as a kid—crashing there as an adult just seemed to make sense.

When he got there, he met GIR in the front yard, disguised in its puppy costume, pulling several weeks of mail out of the mailbox. Curiously, he followed the robot inside, picking up a few pieces of mail that it dropped along the way. Each of the names in the address lines were different. One was for someone named “Human Jones.” Another was addressed to “Normal Bobb.” Dib found GIR inside, running most of the mail through a shredder inside its head. It fluffed the shredded paper and then dove into it like a pile of leaves.

Considering the fate of the rest of the mail, Dib decided to break a second law that weekend and open Zim’s mail. Inside the first envelope, he found a check of $572 for a Mr. Human Jones.

“This is a disability check!” Dib gasped aloud, being ignored by the frolicking robot. He ripped open the next piece of mail, finding another check for a similar amount in a different name. “These are from different counties! That’s _fraud_!”

In his shock, he’d failed to see GIR sneak up on him. It snatched the checks out of his hands and scurried away. Dib tried to keep up, chasing it down the hall.

“Protect Master’s human monies!” it dashed to the fifth door, activating a hidden panel on the wall beside it. The door disappeared entirely. GIR dove through the entry and the door instantly reappeared.

The holographic door felt real enough when Dib pounded his fists on it. He remembered the last time he’d done something similar and immediately felt creeped out by himself. He leaned against the wall beside the door, closing his eyes and trying to fight the sudden anxiety creeping over him. He couldn’t guess why he’d be the one getting upset after chasing someone through their own house.

Still shaking, he pulled himself to his feet and returned to the living room. The gross feeling sinking over him was desperate and ominous.

He remembered at once that Zim had posted his picture on social media—he’d made sure that his name was not mentioned in the post, but it probably didn’t matter either way. If someone out there wanted to find him, they’d know where to look. He’d forwarded enough Zim-related materials to the Swollen Eyeball that they probably kept tabs on the alien, too.

Now the shaking was bad enough that he struggled to hold his lighter steady. He arranged a black candle in the holder he’d packed and used that to ignite the bundle of white sage he’d also brought along. The was not the cleansing ritual he’d planned on performing within Zim’s base, but the smoke and the flickering candle brought him enough comfort to soothe his shaking.

When he’d finally calmed down, the robot at last emerged from its room. It took one look at the smoke billowing from the sage bundle and it dashed forward, stomping the smoldering herb while pinching the flame off the candle.

“Hey! I _wanted_ those to be on fire!” Dib scolded while relighting the candle. Good thing he wasn’t doing any formal spell work, he thought as the robot squelched the flame a second time.

“Stop that! Seriously!” Dib couldn’t help but raise his voice.

“Master says no fire inside the house!” GIR shouted back.

“This isn’t a fire. It’s a tool basically.” Dib tried to explain. He gestured with the sage bundle as he attempted to relight it. “This kind of fire makes things _more_ safe.”

“Master says no fire!” the robot repeated, shrieking it louder. It snatched the sage bundle out of Dib’s grip and quickly swallowed it. “Ew, that tastes gross!”

“You’re not supposed to eat it, dumbass!” Dib yelled back, absolutely sure by now that the dark energies being sent his way were laughing at him.

GIR froze when he said it. Dib realized too late he should not have resorted to name-calling, and he braced for the reaction it would surely inspire. But the outburst never came.

Instead the robot stood motionless, glaring at him with the red eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Dib tried.

“I’m tellin’ Master that you’re starting fires!” it growled.

“I’m not starting fires!” Dib argued, although it had already activated the hidden panel by the television screen and plugged in a passcode.

Being tattled on by GIR still felt less personal than when it came from his own sister, especially as it danced a circle around him, singing.

“Master’s gonna hate you! And then no more kisses for you! La la la la la…”

The television screen changed to display an Irken symbol in the center. It put out a tone that Dib eventually realized was a call being placed. Anxiously he pressed himself against the wall at the side of the screen, hoping he couldn’t be seen from the angle. He wasn’t ready to be yelled at by Zim, too.

When the call picked up, he could hear activity on the other end. Fluttering musical tones almost sounded like the ambience of an Earth casino. He recognized a distinctive voice coming from the screen.

“_I have to find out what my SIR unit wants.”_ Zim spoke to someone who could not be seen. Dib craned to make out what was on the screen without moving into view.

“Master!” The robot crooned.

“_What is it, GIR?”_

“I miss you!”

“_Yes, I know, GIR.” _Zim was surprisingly patient. “_Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?_”

“Uh… I forgetted.” The robot said meekly.

“_Think really hard_.” Zim gently coached it. “_Was there something bad happening before you called me_?”

“Um…”

As GIR struggled to remember its reason for calling, Zim laughed again and made a hush sound at someone talking offscreen.

A moment later, the unknown person moved closer so that they were at last visible.

Dib did a double-take. This person looked almost Irken, but with blueish-purple skin and fluffy antennae that resembled a moth’s. The thing that stood out to Dib, however, was that the alien scooted closer to Zim and snaked an arm around the back of his waist.

“Who’s that?” Dib mouthed at GIR.

“That’s Master!” it gleefully replied.

“Not Zim, the other guy. Guy? Person? Person.” Dib hissed, trying to keep his voice low.

But it was already too late.

“_Who are you talking to, GIR_?” Zim squinted and peered through whatever screen he had on his end. While he leaned forward to look, he braced a hand on the other alien’s shoulder.

“The guy…” GIR said slowly. “Oh yeah! I remember now! That guy’s trying to burn the house down! He started a big ol’ fire and everything.”

“I did not!” Dib replied out loud, cringing and clapping a hand over his mouth.

“_Eh_?” Zim perked up. The purple alien asked him something in an incomprehensible language. “_No, it’s fine, I think my pet is causing trouble back at my base_.”

“I am not!” Dib continued to defend himself, at last sacrificing his shroud of secrecy to step forward and show himself.

“_Ha! I was right_!” Zim announced when Dib stepped into view. “_You! Human! Stop burning things in my house_!”

“I’m trying to perform a cleansing ritual!” Dib insisted. The word ‘pet’ echoed in his mind. He was struck with a sudden clarity, particularly when he caught the purple alien staring at him wide-eyed like he was looking at a cute animal.

The point was driven home further when the violet person said something about it to Zim.

“_Really? Well, that one’s mine but I’ll bring you one of your own next time_.” Zim replied to a question. “_Good luck trying to train one of those. I’m still trying to break mine_.”

“Are you talking about _me_? About people?” Dib wheezed. “Is that all I am to you, a pet? Huh? What are you guys talking about?”

“_We will discuss this later_.” Zim sighed at him. “_Stop burning things in my base or I will have you removed from it_!”

“Oh, cool, am I supposed to say, ‘Yes Master?’” Dib could not help the rise on his voice. Being jealous over Zim was not something he’d ever imagined happening to him. But when the purple alien tightened their grip on Zim’s waist, it wasn’t just the jealousy that bothered him.

“_I said, we’ll talk about it later. Be grateful that I will humor you at all_.” Zim repeated. The purple person asked another question and Zim snapped at them, too. “_Well, what do you expect? They’re humans!_”

Dib felt dizzy when the call finally ended. The last thing he heard was Zim and his ‘friend’ laughing about something he was certainly not a part of. He returned to sitting on the floor with his knees hugged to his chest. The surgical wounds felt almost entirely healed—too bad a new chest pain now laid him open.

The parts of his mind that were still lucid told him that there was a chance the whole thing was a cultural misunderstanding. Space people probably saw intimacy in a different way. What he saw was likely a very normal amount of physical contact between two platonic acquaintances. But even if Zim was being too cuddly with the guy, it wasn’t like Dib had explained the importance of fidelity. Now that he knew how to have sex, he probably saw no issue with taking what Dib had shown him and having an intergalactic fuck spree.

Dib groaned and cradled his heavy head in his hands. Overwhelmed by the sudden change, he wished he could simply cry the feelings out. But tears would not come, even when he tried. Instead the burden of accepting what he now recognized as feelings for Zim simmered inside of him along with all the unresolved anxiety he’d given himself earlier in the weekend.

“Aw, it’s okay…” GIR had likely forgotten everything already. It sat next to Dib and mimicked his posture, right down to a quivering bottom lip. Dib wished he could’ve found it cute, but in that moment, he felt like the entire universe was laughing at him.

Above all else he felt like an idiot for thinking Zim even had the capacity to see him as a romantic partner, let alone a boyfriend. Zim saw the cultivation of their relationship as the care of a pet—one that was hardly trainable, no less.

“I’m so stupid.” Dib wheezed aloud for the comfort of hearing his own voice.

“I know.” GIR said and offered a pat on his back. “You want some waffles?”

“I’m good, thanks.” There was no sense in being mad at the robot, even if its tattling was the reason that he felt this way now.

“Master loves you.” GIR broke the lengthening silence.

“That’s not true, but thanks.” Dib said. At least the conversation distracted him from falling deeper into the brambles of his mind.

“It’s true! He loves you the bestest.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m a _superior specimen_.” Dib rubbed at the implant and realized for the first time how violated it made him feel.

“Master was being dumb! He forgetted about the mission!” GIR seemed suddenly more rational than it had ever been. “Then you gived him kisses, and he remembered about the mission!”

“The mission to destroy Earth and enslave humanity? I’m helping him with that? Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Dib at last lost his cool.

The robot groaned in irritation.

“Get happy!” It screamed at him.

“No!” Dib grinned as it vibrated angrily.

“You’re dumb!”

“Yes. I am.”

Despite everything, Dib decided to distract himself with the remaining time before he had to leave for work. He dragged his backpack across the floor and dug out the model paints he’d brought with him. The paints were quite old and almost completely separated, plus he didn’t have all the colors he wanted. He gave one of the little pots a good shake and studied it. It would have to work for now.

Then he rose and made his way to the wall compartment that he knew contained the robot parents.

He knocked—it felt like a really stupid move, but a panel opened and the robot dad slowly rolled out.

“What is it, son? Are you trapped in a well?” its voice crackled almost as badly as the paint on its face.

“I don’t know if you’re self-aware like GIR is, but, um… is it okay if I give you a little touch-up?” Dib held out the paints so it could see.

The robo-dad bent at the waist, its arms swinging. Its face hovered an inch over Dib’s hands, sightless eyes pointing at opposite ends of the room.

“How about a game of catch, son?” it replied, but a moment later it lowered itself on its wheels and sat motionless before him.

Dib waited a minute before approaching. Robo-dad did not move or acknowledge him even as he reached forward to inspect the damage to its paint.

Soon, he knelt on the floor beside it, mixing paint colors on the shiny side of a notebook, dipping his brushes in his water bottle. The makeshift operation was not entirely successful—he couldn’t quite match the robot’s original skin tone, but he figured Zim wouldn’t notice or care.

He lost himself in the task. He noted that the contact with the robot parent was more than he’d ever had in a lifetime with his real father. Perhaps the Professor was secretly disquieted by the homunculus of a child he’d created, and this was the reason why he couldn’t ever bring himself to hug his “son.”

Dib wallowed silently in self-pity. Then, just as he swished his paintbrush in the clean water one last time, Robo-dad shook and rose up on its rollers. The movement was sudden and made Dib flinch, the memory of a thousand of Zim’s booby traps etched into his mind.

The robot turned to him once more. It looked notably better now with its face painted back on. Perhaps GIR had a point about Dib’s changing role in Zim’s mission.

“I love you, son, and I’m so proud of you.” Robot-Dad said to Dib before rolling back into its compartment.

“You’re welcome…” Dib sighed after it.

Alas, the time had come to return to MacMeatie’s. He’d have to repaint the robot mom later. He wasn’t sure he was ready to find out what a maternal affirmation sounded like anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 19 summary:  
Dib shows up at Zim’s house and immediately gets into it with GIR. Dib explores the “house” part of Zim’s base. GIR makes muffins. After a night of watching TV with GIR and sleeping on Zim’s couch, Dib goes home briefly is actively avoided by Gaz. When he gets back to Zim’s place he discovers that Zim is collecting disability income. Dib gets anxious and tries to do some ritual cleansing stuff; GIR “calls” Zim to tattle on Dib for burning sage in the house. Zim scolds Dib whilst hanging out w/ some cute alien dude and Dib gets unexpectedly jealous. Dib keeps himself busy by repainting one of the aging robot parents.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 20 notes:  
Content warnings: heavy alcohol use, mild sexual harassment, sick fic(?), there is like, a brief, not hugely detailed mention of characters peeing... (Not sure if this is something worth tagging, but I feel like it’s sort of a potentially weird thing to read in an ongoing story that is also erotica, so like, heads up for that?)
> 
> There is a smattering of OCs in this chapter, most of whom will probably never have speaking roles again in this fic. This chapter is kinda weird in a different way than the rest of this fic. yeah.....Enjoy!

Dib lost the time it took to commute to work. Not that a bus ride was entirely exciting—but it was always a little frightening these days to be suddenly aware that he was almost at work when he didn’t remember getting there.

Clocking in was too trippy. He was not okay to start working, but there was no choice. Narrowed, flat vision made it feel like he was watching a first-person video as he staggered to the kitchen. The steamy oil-infused air hit him before he even got there, at least helping a little to ground him.

He was quickly intercepted by Torque. The manager looked almost glad to see him. It was a relief to be wanted somewhere at last. Dib hadn’t realized how far gone he’d been until this moment.

“Hey, dude, I wanted to thank you again for taking charge on the register yesterday,” Torque said corporately.

“Yeah, that sucked,” Dib agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the nail polish he’d yet to remove.

“Honestly? You were better after one day than some people who’ve been here for years.” Torque went on.

“I doubt that, but thanks.”

“Nah, man, I mean it.” Torque insisted, then continued. “So, real quick—me and some of the guys are going to meet up at Mike’s tonight. You wanna come? I’ll give you a ride.”

For a moment, Dib was certain he’d misheard. First the sale of drugs, now this? He’d never been invited to an outing by anyone he’d considered a peer. Did this mean, perhaps, that Torque was attempting to be… a _friend_?

“Mike’s Sauce Emporium? Sure!” Dib tried not to stutter with excitement.

“My lady’s gonna be there. You can bring Zim if you want.” Torque added.

“Oh, well, he’s—,” Dib tried to find a positive way to word it. _Outside of the heliosphere, hanging out with a beautiful purple guy _didn’t seem glamourous. “—busy.”

“Aw, I was hoping to see that kid. I have almost everyone from Miss Bitters’ class on my Big Social. You and Zim are like, the only ones I haven’t added yet.”

“Uh… cool…” Dib struggled to stay afloat in the conversation. How was he going to survive an outing with people he hardly knew if he couldn’t even keep up with Torque?

Torque changed the subject then, although it didn’t make things much better.

“Anyway, since you _owned_ register yesterday, I was hoping you could do it again today.”

Now Dib understood why he’d been invited. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted Torque so easily.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Torque pleaded quite seriously at Dib’s silence. “Wellesley called out so I have to cover grill. I know you can handle it.”

“Yeah.” Dib tried to find some peace with his fate. But it wasn’t long on the register before time started slipping away again. Luckily it was a little steadier of a crowd on this Sunday—but the voice reciting the impossibly long name of the promotional item didn’t sound much like his own.

The only part he remembered was gasping when he saw a four-foot-tall old man come through the front doors. He held his breath and made sure the figure saw him—then he felt like an idiot when he realized it was not Zim after all but a very petite human who’d caught him staring lividly.

The benefit of being stuck behind the register was that his clothes didn’t smell completely disgusting at the end of the shift. At least now he wasn’t wishing he could hide out in the building all night. Indeed, it hardly felt like he’d worked at all.

He was grateful to have real-life plans with people his age that night. Following Torque to the parking lot and meeting up with his girlfriend was so new and exciting he forgot to worry about Zim for a few minutes. Torque’s girlfriend had an undercut similar to Dib’s, but hers was turquoise. She did not hesitate to reach for Dib’s face to tug at his sideburns.

“That’s so cute! I’m gonna do that too!” She exclaimed.

“It would look better on a chick,” Torque agreed.

Dib self-consciously vowed to finally take Gaz’s advice and whack the sideburns off the second he got his hands on a razor. He tried to remind himself that this was supposed to be a cool experience, even as he sat like a little kid in the back of Torque’s car and was chatted at by his girlfriend.

“I’m so happy Torque’s finally working with a gay guy,” she prattled, craning around in her seat to stare at Dib with wide eyes. “Finally someone I can talk to on boys’ night!”

Dib soon realized that it was him she was referring too.

Luckily Torque cut her off. “That’s not true, sometimes DiGiorno brings his wife.”

“Yeah, but she’s boring.” His girlfriend sighed. “Your style is so cool, Dib.”

“…my work clothes?” Dib managed to reply, trying not to sound annoyed in front of his boss.

“Yeah, but like, with the hair and glasses… And those _boots_! Dead! Those are so rad!” she seemed, in some ways, smitten. The look in her eyes reminded him of the way Zim’s purple friend had looked at him when they were discussing humans as pets, and it made him equally uncomfortable.

“My boyfriend is an alien,” Dib announced to her when she wouldn’t stop staring. Perhaps he could repulse her simply by being himself. It always seemed to work the rest of the time.

“Ooh, I haven’t heard of that! Is that like being a ‘bear’ or a ‘cub’ or something?” she beamed.

“Babe, we talked about this. He thinks…” Torque cleared his throat and smiled weakly at Dib. “Babe, you remember Zim from my stories about middle skool?”

“Right!” His girlfriend laughed. Then she cupped her hand around her mouth and stage-whispered to Dib. “I still think you’re cool, even if you are crazy!”

By the time they finally got to the bar, Dib was quite unsure about the whole outing. But if someone like Zim could make human friends, he wanted to say he had a couple, too. He gritted his teeth and tried to stay calm while he was re-introduced to two of the morning cooks he’d only seen in passing.

“I heard they’re sticking you on register.” The one called DiGiorno said. “You like it?”

“It’s, um— it’s alright.” Dib lied.

“That’s the bitch station,” DiGiorno replied sharply. “You into sports at all?”

“Uh, football is the oddly-shaped one, right?” Dib tried his hand at a joke.

DiGiorno’s eyes glazed over. “Okay, I ran out of things to talk to you about.”

“Hey, you’re gay, right?” The other, called Totino, butted in.

“I guess so, for the most part…” Dib said slowly, wondering why this so important. Explaining the nuances of being a pansexual aromantic xenophile to this crowd seemed like a waste of everyone’s time.

“Well, I want you to know that I don’t have any problem with that.” Totino said loudly and firmly.

“That’s… good.” Dib wasn’t sure if he should thank the man.

“I mean, just because you want to have sexual relations with another man—I don’t have a problem with that, okay?” Totino asserted, stepping forward. He cracked his knuckles and stared Dib down with small, pointed eyes. “Just because you want to take it up the ass from another man… I’m not bothered by that, okay?”

“Yeah, I can tell…” Dib sighed under his breath when he was at last left alone. Luckily the other closing kitchen staff were starting to trickle in, so Dib clung to them and tried to keep from losing his nerve.

Soon Torque bought a round of shots for everyone. Dib gulped his down, shuddering—he’d never drank much before, but he was driven both by desires to fit in and to escape the weird loneliness that settled on him when he saw Torque put his arm around his girlfriend’s waist. The tableau was too much, too soon.

He could still remember Zim’s hand on the purple guy’s shoulder. What did it _mean_? Probably nothing, but Dib still couldn’t get it out of his head.

He licked the rim of his shot glass, closing his eyes and savoring the cinnamon aroma.

“That was pretty good,” he told Torque when the man came back around. “How much is something like that?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m buying tonight. You want another Spicyball?” At Dib’s uncertain look, he persisted. “Look, you’ve had my back this weekend. Plus my girlfriend thinks you’re _great_!”

As Torque spoke, Dib spotted said girlfriend coming for them. She stared not at her boyfriend, but at Dib. Torque gave him a pat on the back and leaned in close.

“Thanks dude.” Torque whispered. Dib realized he’d been duped for the second time that day as Torque walked away, shouting, “I have an open tab! Get what you want!”

Torque’s girlfriend already had her hand on Dib’s arm. He found himself cornered, pinned to a barstool while she scrolled Blogglr and insisted he look at her feed.

“Torque said you’re a vegetarian, right?” she engaged him finally.

“Yeah…”

“Look at this blog I follow. They post all these vegan recipes. I keep trying to get Torque to cook them for me, but he’s so lazy when he gets home.” She pontificated at him. “Do you cook, too?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Dib lied. He tried to save himself with some truth. “My boyfriend can’t eat fiber, so I’ve been trying to make some like, fruit purees so he can see what they really taste like.”

“Oh, wow! I can’t even!” she squealed. “Literally dead! I have to post that!”

He sighed and watched her compose a text post on the blogging site.

“_I’m hanging out with this gay guy from T’s job rn and he’s telling me all the cute things he does for his boyfriend <3 <3 <3_” he read over her shoulder.

The bartender came by and Dib eagerly ordered another round.

The second shot of Spicyball was as tasty and burny as the first, but even after several minutes passed, Dib was sure that he couldn’t feel the effects of the drink. He ordered a third just as Torque’s girlfriend scrolled across a drawing of two _Trek Wars_ characters kissing.

“Are you into shipping at all?” she whirled so hard on her barstool that Dib flinched. “Do you watch _Doctor Huh_?”

“Um, I’ve seen a few episodes…” Dib threw back the third shot of Spicyball.

“So I have to tell you the chronological plot of the entire series now,” Torque’s girlfriend said. “And then—,” she practically squealed. “—I can tell you about all my headcanons!”

By the time she’d started her synopsis of the fourth season, Dib realized that he still didn’t feel even vaguely drunk. Dib looked longingly at the table where Torque had sat with the other cooks. The group of them had their eyes glued to some sportball game being shown on the bar’s large TV screen. The whole table cheered in reaction to a play—Dib studied the screen and wished he knew the first thing about it.

Dib ordered a forth shot and excused himself briefly from the one-sided conversation. He moseyed over to Torque’s table and squeezed in at an empty chair.

“So, who’s playing?” he made a pathetic attempt to gesture to the TV and fit in.

“Goiters vs. Snatches,” Torque said monotonously like he was answering customers’ questions at MacMeaties.

Dib tried again, pointing to Torque’s beer. “What’s this? Huh? Is it like, a microbrew? Huh? Huh?”

Torque sighed and begrudgingly tore his eyes away from the screen. He pointed to his girlfriend and lowered his voice again. “Look, I’m counting on you to keep an eye on her, okay? I need a night off.”

“I see.” Dib studied the shot in his hand. Hopefully round number four would do the trick for him. If not, he wouldn’t feel too bad spending more of Torque’s money.

“Hey, new guy,” the cook named Totino pounded on the table to get his attention. “Is it easier to take a shit after you’ve been fucked up the ass?”

“I’ve never, uh—,” Dib caught himself before he stupidly admitted anything to this jerk. “Jeez! Why would you ask someone that?”

“You’ve never taken it in the ass?” At last Torque shot Totino a warning glare. “If you don’t do it in the ass, you’re not actually gay. Right?”

Dib finally met Torque’s eyes. Torque looked at him neutrally and made no effort to silence the other cook.

“Guess I’ll go sit with your girlfriend.” Dib sighed and tossed back the shot.

“Cool.” Torque agreed coldly.

Defeated, Dib returned to the bar and sat next to Torque’ girlfriend. He was just in time to hear her read aloud to him several memes she found amusing. She play-slapped his wrist when he ordered a fifth shot.

“I’m only on my third and I’m so white-girl wasted.” She crooned. Then she contemplatively bumped his thigh with her knee. “You must really like to party.”

She soon got up to visit the bathroom, and Dib wondered why he still didn’t feel even vaguely drunk. As he pondered, he touched the implant in his chest. It was no longer sensitive under his skin. Maybe, he decided, if it increased his healing abilities, it must’ve sped up his metabolism, too. If he wanted to get drunk, he’d have to consume alcohol faster than the implant could process it.

“Do you have anything stronger?” Dib asked when the bartender offered him another Spicyball.

“Seriously?” The bartender said. Then, he looked Dib over. “Say, you’ve had a few already. You sure you’re ready for another?”

“It’s fine, I have an alien implant in my chest metabolizing it as fast as I can drink it,” Dib explained.

The bartender laughed. “Oh, okay. You’re crazy, not drunk.”

“Exactly!”

Dib entertained himself trying to savor the amber liquor like a worldly, informed drinker. He half-listened to Torque’s girlfriend talk about Blogglr’s pornography ban. At last Torque approached them, marveling at the army of shot glasses Dib was amassing.

“How many have you had?” Torque’s eyes widened.

“Uh… eight?” Dib cringed thinking about the bill he’d left Torque with. To his surprise, Torque just nodded, impressed.

“Damn! I never would’ve guessed _you’d_ be a heavyweight! That’s great, though! We’re all going to walk over to the park and play some nightball. You coming?”

The other cooks were noticeably swaying while they lingered in the parking lot to retrieve a ball and an unopened bottle of black-label whiskey out of Torque’s car. When Dib asked, none of them had more than four drinks, except for Torque, who’d had five and was slurring.

Dib caught up with Torque as the crowd shuffled to the nearby park.

“I don’t know a lot about this game,” Dib said apologetically.

“That’s okay, neither does she,” Torque nodded at his girlfriend, who was struggling to keep up with her eyes on her phone.

Dib groaned inwardly, frustrated. He glanced back to the man walking beside him. Gauging Torque’s mood, he tried, “Did you invite me out tonight to keep your girlfriend busy while you hung out with your _real_ friends?”

Whatever resolve Torque might’ve had crumbled, and so did he. The man stood ten inches over Dib and easily had a hundred and fifty pounds on him, and he was whimpering like they were still weird loners in middle skool.

“Don’t be mad at me!” Torque wailed pathetically.

“I’m not!” Dib insisted frantically.

“Yes you are! You hate me!”

“I don’t!”

“Promise you’ll still talk to me at work!”

“I will!” Dib couldn’t be sure why Torque would care about all this, especially since he’d hardly made a point to actually hang out with him—but it seemed to assuage the sudden bout of grief.

Torque sniffled. “Thanks for keeping her busy tonight. She feels left out a lot when we go out with the guys.”

When they arrived at the park, Torque cracked into the bottle of whiskey and thrust it at Dib. “You first, you deserve it.”

Dib gulped the brown liquor like it was iced tea. He trembled passing the bottle back, getting more accustomed to the burning in his chest as the night went on. It made its way around the group and back to him. Torque stopped him and announced it to the rest of the cooks.

“Dib holds his booze better than any of us!” he slurred praisingly. “He might be crazy, but he’s one of us!”

“Hey, let me tell you guys something!” Totino said when the bottle made its way back around the circle to him. “I believe in all that alien shit, too!”

Dib paused, bracing for some jest about anal probing or something worse.

“I’m goddamn serious, you guys! That shit is for real.” Totino stammered.

“Jeez, shut up and take a drink.” DiGiorno slurred back at him.

“No, go on.” Dib couldn’t help his curiosity.

“All that UFO shit. It’s real!” Totino continued. “I seen it on Big Social. There was a spaceship landed in the desert or some shit and the government keeps it a secret because they used the ship’s computer to figure out how to control the weather. Or something, I dunno.”

“That’s a Swollen Eyeball conspiracy…” Dib remarked to himself, baffled that something like that would’ve made its way onto mainstream social media.

“This shit’s too creepy,” Torque wheezed. “Can we just play now?”

“I’m just saying, if the new guy says his gay-homosexual-life-partner-whatever is an alien, then it’s fuckin’ true!”

At last the men dispersed, but not after chanting at Dib to chug from the whiskey bottle. Finally he thought he might’ve felt something. At least his head was a little heavy. He camped out with Torque’s girlfriend on a bench at the sidelines. Beside him, she still scrolled on Blogglr.

“Is it weird to ship incest?” she blurted out loud suddenly.

“Huh?” Dib realized that the drink was indeed catching up with him. He definitely felt groggy now.

“You know the Brinchester brothers from _Ubernaturale_?” Torque’s girlfriend scoffed. “Is it weird that I ship them?”

“You’re still talking about imaginary characters, right?” Dib tried to catch up on the conversation, wishing it would just be over already. “I don’t know, it’s all pretty messed up.”

“Cool. Thanks for not judging me.” Torque’s girlfriend sighed. “I love hanging out with you. Can I have a hug?”

“I’d rather not.” As they spoke, a sharp twist of pain fluttered in Dib’s stomach as if finally reflecting being full of liquor. He clutched his gut and shuddered.

“Oh, come on, it’s just a hug!” she whined. “You’re making me feel bad!”

“Fine!” he gave in, letting her squeeze him tightly. At once his back started to ache, too, like he’d been on his feet for an entire shift in a matter of minutes.

Torque’s girlfriend held onto him still, breathing into his jacket collar.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered.

“Oh, no…” Dib braced for something else uncomfortable and shipping-related.

“I’ve been trying to get Torque to have a threesome, but he doesn’t want to…” she said, surprising him until she squeezed his shoulders. “But, maybe if it was with someone he already knows, he’d do it…”

Panic shot through him. Dib could not imagine a more awkward thing for her to have said— now he wished she would’ve just continued talking about shipping. “I… I need to find a bathroom,” Dib croaked, a cramp shooting down his side making for a great excuse. It all came on so suddenly. On top of it all, he finally felt properly, stupidly drunk. He tore himself away from her, clutching his sides and staggering across the playfield toward the bathroom hut.

The men playing in the sports field spotted him passing them. He could hear them following him, whooping and cheering. He did not look back but walked faster, rounding the corner only to find that the bathroom entrance was gated and padlocked. He couldn’t stop from shaking as he came back around to the front of the building.

“They lock the bathrooms now?” someone slurred angrily. “Those fuckers! Just piss on the side!”

“Yeah! Piss on their nice bricks!”

The other cooks had already whipped it out, perhaps trying to encourage him, although they just seemed eager to have an excuse to whip it out. Either way, Dib wasn’t ready to participate in the hyper-masculine bonding activity.

“Come on! Don’t be a pussy!” Torque’s voice struck a chord.

Their pestering aside, Dib knew he was too intoxicated to hold out much longer. Shamefully he tried to join them. He kept his eyes to himself. The stream was like razors and it made him hiss out a shaky breath. Something deep inside of him ached weirdly—his prostate? A moment later there was a dramatic shuffle as someone beside him recoiled and accidentally pissed on someone else’s shoes.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, shit!” Totino spoke first, hardly finding the words. “New guy’s pissing black!”

He pointed. Dib looked to the bricks and groaned. Sure enough, his particular spot on the wall was opaque and quite dark, like someone had splashed a jar of paint water onto the bricks.

Dib wished entirely that he could die. The men at his sides panicked while he painfully finished. All he could think about was getting it put away and getting out of there. Even then, the pain did not subside. His lower back felt like someone was sawing him in half as a magic trick. He swayed and Torque caught him and held him by the shoulders.

“I think we need to get him to a hospital.” The larger man said, sounding a little sobered.

Over the ringing in his ears, Dib heard the word ‘hospital’ and jerked violently, instinctively.

“No! I’m fine! I’m fine!” he stammered. He stood up straight and pulled himself out of Torque’s grasp.

“Your piss is black!” DiGiorno argued.

“That’s what happens when you take it up the ass from an alien,” Totino added with authority.

Dib could already visualize the fluorescent lights and gray speckled walls. He could see those people in their scrubs, with their needles full of sedatives.

“I’m just dehydrated, that’s all!” Dib forced himself to stay upright as he staggered away. “Well, anyway, I have class in the morning, so see you guys later!”

Torque bolted after him.

“Let me give you a ride!”

Dib tried to run, at least as well as he could with the pain blossoming in his abdomen. Of course he was no match for his athletic manager. Torque had him in his arms in no time. The larger man easily tackled him to the ground. Dib cried out in agony when one of Torque’s knees made contact with his already tender stomach.

“Dude… let me drive you to the emergency room,” Torque slurred, pinning him to the sidewalk. A moment later he was clutching his head. “Fuck… maybe _you_ should drive _me_…”

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Dib tried to choke out even as his guts twisted like they were full of knives.

Torque at last rolled off of him and sprawled drunkenly on the ground beside him.

With the momentary distraction, Dib managed to pull himself to his feet. He stifled a whimper and took off again, running from his coworkers like they were the staff at the psych ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 20 summary:  
Dib dissociates on the way to work. Torque invites him to go out with some of the cooks after work. Dib gets stuck on the register again and keeps dissociating till the end of the night. Later he meets Torque’s girlfriend and some of the morning cooks. Most of his interactions with this assortment of OCs are really shitty and uncomfy. Torque’s girlfriend gets cozy with Dib and immerses him in non-subtle “Blogglr” content. Dib pounds drinks and tries to force his way in with Torque, only to be further isolated by the horrid OCs. Later, Torque invites Dib to accompany the crew outside of the bar, but it turns out to be extended girlfriend supervision. Torque gets sad+sloppy when Dib calls him out. For a moment it looks like the group accepts Dib; Torque’s girlfriend creeps on Dib when they’re alone. Dib tries to get away and gets caught up in a group piss with the fellas, thus discovering that Something Is Wrong and he’s on his way to being really sick.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 21 notes:  
I don’t know what to tell you about this one... there is a lot to take in here. I don’t know how to tag it all because I’m not actually that informed about this genre? But please let me know if there are things that I can + should tag beyond my feeble attempt, as follows:
> 
> Sickfic? Body horror? Yeah there is pee mention again; Vomit mention. Dib lists a string of psychiatric disorders. Basically a certain degree of death wish/suicidal ideation. (as a reminder, there is a more detailed summary in the end notes)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for being here. Be safe. Enjoy.

Dib ran until the ache inside of him forced him to double over. The strain of the activity stirred his agonized guts and he dry-heaved pathetically. He tried to catch his breath, spitting stringy saliva onto the sidewalk and bracing himself on his knees to stay upright. His face was hot and his ears rang loud enough to make him clutch his head.

This was not a typical drunken experience, obviously. The ache in his lower back was unlike any workplace strain he’d ever felt. He clutched his sides like an old man while he hobbled onto a bus.

The driver stared at him in the rear view mirror while he flopped into the inward-facing seats in the front of the coach. He clutched his guts and wheezed a few soft breaths.

“Those seats are for disabled people,” the driver called back to him.

Dib glanced around the empty coach.

“I _am_ disabled… I paid with a disability card.” He spoke softly if not assertively.

“Oh yeah? What’s wrong with you, then?”

Shameless and impatient, he sat up and met the driver’s eyes in his rear-view mirror.

“I’m a paranoid schizophrenic with bipolar and antisocial personality disorders.” Dib announced. Saying it all aloud was strangely cathartic. He had not once verbalized the string of diagnoses until now.

“Yeah, right.” The driver glared. “That seat’s reserved for old ladies, not tweakers.”

Dib glanced at his reflection in the bus window. In the tinted fluorescent lights, his sallow skin looked almost as green as Zim. Sweat glued his hair to his forehead.

“Hey, freak!” the driver raised his voice. “Are you fucking deaf, too? You can’t sit there just cuz you’re strung out! Now move!”

As he wobbled off the bus later, Dib was sure now that something was very wrong with him. His belly was hard. He felt like every orifice in his body was about to expel lava. He staggered down the street and realized he’d boarded a bus to Zim’s neighborhood. Alas, all his stuff was there anyway, and he wasn’t ready to interact with Gaz in this state.

He could just imagine her yelling at him for getting himself into this mess. She’d probably punch him right in his swollen stomach. Or, more likely and much worse, she would insist on getting him to an emergency room like his coworkers.

None of them would have been wrong.

Predictably, the front door to Zim’s lair was locked. He waited on the stoop, holding himself and shivering. The pain swept over him in growing waves. His hand trembled as he knocked and rang the doorbell a second time. Maybe GIR had left in search of more dumpster taquitos. Either way, the stabbing in his prostate returned, this time worse than before. He tried one of the front windows—for the first time since his youth, they were closed and locked.

Now he was panicking, shame and anxiety fighting for control. Anxiety won, so he staggered around the side of the house, hiding as far in the back as he could while still watching the front should the lawn gnomes decide to charge him after all.

The way he felt now, part of him wished they’d just laser him to death and put him out of this misery.

The unreasonable amount of alcohol he’d consumed made its way through him in Zim’s back yard. Clinical concern stripped away the last of his ego and he used his phone flashlight to investigate. The stain on the grass was not quite black, but it was concerningly opaque and seemed almost viscous. Horrified and nauseous, he staggered back to the front of the house and sat on the steps, slumping forward and wrapping shaky arms around himself.

Scrolling his phone did little to help pass the time. None of his message boards had any new posts. News articles about the world ending only deepened his hysteria. Soon he just sat, melting further onto the steps until the side of his head touched concrete.

Even that part of the lair was weirdly fake-looking. Dib ran his fingertips over the suspiciously smooth, dense texture. This many years later, Zim hadn’t bothered to improve his camouflage.

Dib rolled over to stare at the hoses and wires splaying out of the house and running through the walls into the neighboring buildings. The house in the middle of the street looked like the artificial heart in the middle of his chest, like Zim himself had forced his way into everything and lodged himself in place like a mechanical parasite.

Dib couldn’t tell how much time passed. He did not lift his head when he heard squeaking footsteps scurry up the walkway. Small robotic hands prodded at him soon enough.

Dib at last forced himself to look. GIR was wearing its puppy costume with something brown smeared all around its mouth. It smelled rancid. Dib dragged himself to his feet somehow—the robot tugged at his coat like it was trying to help. It led him inside where he promptly dropped to the couch. The exertion made him moan pathetically.

“Wake up, Rhonda!” GIR growled at him when he closed his eyes. “We gonna do stuff now!”

“Just leave me alone…” Dib sighed.

GIR climbed onto the couch and wedged itself against him. Dib tried to pull away but the movement hurt too much.

“We gonna do what you and Master been doin’,” it announced.

“Oh, really?” Dib felt like he was essentially arguing with a toaster. “And just what do you suppose that is?”

“Master said you have to give me hugs and kisses, too!” GIR at least pulled back the stained hoodie.

“No he didn’t!” Dib flinched from raising his voice. To his surprise and relief, the robot didn’t persist. Instead it flung the puppy costume to the other side of the room and curled up beside him like the pet it was supposed to represent.

Somewhere, Dib lost some time. His mind was foggy and dreamless. Unconsciousness seemed to settle somewhere on top of him rather than surrounding him warmly. When his eyes opened he did not feel rested.

The pain was subdued slightly since he hadn’t moved for some time. He gazed at the living room window with distorted vision. Morning sun trickled in. As he slowly sat up he realized he’d bent his glasses from sleeping with them on.

His hands trembled worse now while he dragged his backpack across the floor. Just the simple movement was agonizing. His whimpers caught the attention of the sentry robot. Soon it manifested beside him—he had not realized that it had been gone.

“Can we hang out now?” it asked him excitedly, latching onto his arm. “I like you.”

Dib tried to scold it but his throat was so dry he gagged on his words. The water bottle in his backpack was almost empty. The last mouthful of water did little to help the sour, metallic taste on his tongue.

Shrill ringing in his ears made him grimace. He kept digging until he retrieved the little handheld device that Zim had left him with. He brought it to his chest and pressed it against the implant’s access point the same way Zim had before.

Unlike that time, the screen flickered and several lines of green text turned red one by one. Although Dib had no idea what any of the text meant, it was confirmation enough that something was amiss inside of him.

Unable to stare at the warning messages any longer, Dib put down the scanner and sprawled on the couch, laying his head against the back. He closed his eyes and took several agonizing, deep breaths, trying to pinpoint the source of pain. His whole abdomen felt like it was full of knives. Fingers pressed against his swollen stomach only served to worsen, not identify the problem.

“Have you ever seen this happen to someone before?” Dib asked the robot that was grinning at him gleefully.

“Oh yeah, all the time.” It replied, still staring.

“So… what happened to them? Did they get better?” Dib actually hoped for a moment that all of this was just a tremendous fart waiting to pass.

“They got all ‘splodey!” GIR said cheerfully. “…Okay, I’m gonna go roll around now!”

Dib groaned as GIR rolled away. Finally, after days, tears threatened at the corners of his eyes. He found his phone on the floor and studied his recent calls. He knew that he should really get himself to a medical facility, but the thought of being treated and handled and injected by all those nurses and doctors was more distressing than the pain. As soon as they realized that he was off his meds it would all be over. Beyond that, how would he explain the heart implant? With his luck they’d decide he’d done it to himself and he’d be off to the psych ward again as soon as he healed.

Pondering his options, he made a weird decision instead. He dialed his father’s number and waited.

It rang in his ear and he wondered what it was he wanted to tell the Professor badly enough to call him. Maybe it was simply an attempt to make peace with the haunting reality that something was damaged in his body and there was nothing he could do about it without compromising his freedom.

“_Membrane Laboratories, my name is Brennifer.”_ A receptionist’s cheerful voice jarred him so severely he nearly dropped his phone.

“Isn’t this his personal number?” Dib stammered when he realized his call had been redirected.

“_Who are you trying to reach?_” The oblivious clerk asked.

“Professor Membrane! This is his son!” he practically yelled.

“_Oh, um… did you have an inquiry about a product?_” the clerk replied.

“Forget it!” Dib huffed. “Wait! Actually, can you get a message to him?”

“_Um… I can transfer you to our marketing department…_”

Dib didn’t want to take his anger out on a secretary any longer. He hung up the call and fought back tears—tears of pain, he asserted to himself, not from the frustrated loneliness of being unable to reach his only parent during his most trying time.

He wondered how the hospital had gotten ahold of Membrane so quickly when he’d been admitted into 72-hour-observation.

Now genuinely freaking out, Dib gathered up the last of his pride and pulled up Gaz’s phone number.

She finally picked up when he redialed her for the third time. Her voice was a muffled but angry hiss.

“_What_?” she demanded.

“Gaz!” he cried out in relief. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to hear her voice. The tears returned and made his breath shake in the receiver.

“_What do you want_?” she sighed.

“Where are you?” he whimpered.

“_Obviously I’m at skool. Where are you_?”

“Can you come to Zim’s house? Please?”

There was a long pause. When she spoke again, her voice was oddly soft.

“_Now what did you do_?” she asked.

“Nothing!” he insisted. “It’s this implant! I think it’s killing me!”

Another long pause.

“_Look… I have a test in my next class_.” She spoke slowly. “_I don’t have time for the Zim stuff today_.”

“Zim stuff? What’s that supposed to mean?” he repeated incredulously. “This might be the last time you ever talk to me!”

“_Are you okay_?” she asked.

“No! I’m not okay! I told you, I’m dying!” he wailed. “I just wanted to tell you and Dad that I love you guys one last time, but _you_ don’t care, and _he_ rerouted his cell number to some receptionist!”

“_What is going on? Seriously_?” her voice cracked. “_What am I supposed to do for you right now? I’m at skool! You should be too! Do I need to call the police and ask for a wellness check? Because I _will_ tell them you’re off your meds_.”

“Why won’t you take me seriously?” he whined.

“_Because you’re not acting serious! You’re acting like a crazy person who needs psychiatric help_!”

Hearing her accuse him of being crazy was somehow more painful now than ever before.

“Fuck you, Gaz! I hope you remember this when I’m dead!”

He heard a muffled scoff and then a click when she hung up on him.

An amount of time passed. Dib faded in and out enough times that he couldn’t guess how long he’d laid there. GIR had long since vanished.

Just the act of pulling himself to his feet made him cry out. At least when he staggered to the kitchen he found running water. Desperate and shameless, he drank from the sink with cupped hands, the water dribbling down his neck and shirt adding to the cool relief. Then he gripped the edge of the metal counter and tried to steady himself, although the relentless pain inside of him was making him dizzy. Now his head was throbbing from being upright, too.

By the time he made it back to the couch, he felt like he’d lived a lifetime in that kitchen. Time was moving in such a way that indicated he was running out of it. While he sat through another wave of muscle spasms, he considered it. If he was dying— and he was increasingly becoming sure that he was—then not going to a hospital was a self-injurious act. Was he truly willing to die to stay out of a mental facility? He weighed his options—death, or humiliation? Death, or ridicule and torment?

The end of his days was not as terrifying as it should’ve been now that he faced it. Despite everything, he couldn’t think of many regrets. He wished that he could have done more to convince humanity about the coming Irken invasion, but he had indeed dedicated his life to this cause and he didn’t feel that the years of effort had been wasted. Otherwise the only thing hanging over him was his most recent interactions with the people he cared about— Gaz, Torque, and Zim. _Especially_ Zim.

He closed his eyes and saw that little gloved hand braced on that purple guy’s shoulder. That should have been Dib’s shoulder!

He was more confused now than ever before about his feelings toward the invader. There was something there that went beyond satisfying his weird xeno fetishes. Zim’s show of vulnerability had shattered the image of hatred Dib had maintained of him since childhood. Now he wondered how much of Gaz’s assessment of their youth was correct. How much of his anger was related to Zim’s invasion plans, and how much had to do with the fact that Zim had never even wanted to be his _friend_?

Perhaps it was best that he’d die before he found out the depth of his feelings. Already the beliefs that had been his truths were shattered. The foundation he’d stood on since he was twelve was crumbling and he was already doing such impulsive shit as shoplifting and terrorizing his sister. How far was he from having another psychotic break? It was probably closer than anyone realized.

Just as he’d come to terms with what was probably a form of suicidal ideation, the front door swung open and GIR scurried inside. It threw off the hood to its puppy costume and cheered while it shoved a Burrito King bag into Dib’s lap.

“You gonna feel happy when you eat snacks!” it explained, climbing onto the couch beside him. Surprisingly, the food inside was still hot. Dib even found a receipt in the bag. Trying not to wonder why nobody was suspicious of a puppy ordering tacos, he instead selected a couple of meatless items and tried to find solace in what was likely his last meal.

“Thank you.” He said to GIR when he remembered his manners. The robot had already finished the rest of the food, wrappers and all, and had trapped itself in the bag looking for more. The comfort of a hot meal pulled Dib away from the pain just for a moment. The first bite of his burrito was tastier than anything he’d eaten in his entire life.

Then, he leaned over and promptly spewed it back up all over the floor, along with the all the water he’d drank earlier. The rejection was sudden and violent, the wretching making him moan in both shame and agony.

GIR leapt from the couch and splashed through the puddle Dib had just produced. The visual was so awful Dib had to close his eyes while he staggered back to the kitchen to rinse his mouth out. This time, huddled in front of the sink, he could feel the energy hemorrhaging out of his body. There was no more nourishment in his belly, and he didn’t dare try to put anything else in it besides more water.

Begrudgingly, he gathered all the kitchen towels that he could find and dragged himself back to the living room to clean up his mess. If he was going to die here, he didn’t want to be surrounded by filth. GIR had already tracked sour footprints up and down the hall. Getting down onto his hands and knees to wipe up the floor was a challenge unto itself; getting back up was so strenuous he felt like a geriatric with a broken hip.

When he’d tidied somewhat satisfactorily, he returned to where he’d been laying on the couch. He resigned himself to dying here like an animal returning to its nest one last time. Exhaustion tumbled over him like restless sleep.

Just as his eyelids grew heavy he realized he was not ready for it to be over. He sat up as quickly as he could, searching for his phone and laptop.

He transferred his camera roll to his hard drive. The pictures of Zim were even more brilliant on a bigger screen. He held his breath and gazed at them. Now, approaching death, he could accept the beauty he saw in them. He was struck with a sense of gratitude that he’d satisfied a lifelong dream of sleeping with an alien. Not just any alien, but with _Zim_. It mattered.

He only wished then that the agony would subside long enough to let him whack off one last time. Alas, he couldn’t get hard in this state even if he tried. Perhaps this was what Zim felt like most of the time.

Instead he would have to do something different but equally creepy. He pulled up his favorite XXXCryptids message board. It took a few minutes to access his old account, but once he was in, he began to compose his post.

The time and effort he put into it would have to reflect his newly accepted feelings. He couldn’t even be angry that it was Zim’s implant killing him. He typed out his heartfelt description and then uploaded the two pictures of Zim’s spread legs.

When it was posted, he signed out and turned off his laptop. The post wasn’t about checking for feedback, it was about using his last breath to scream meaningfully into the void. Maybe somewhere out there, the post would matter to someone else. It mattered to him, at least.

He laid back on the couch. Sitting up and fussing on his computer had taken a lot out of him. He shivered from the painful movement. Then, exhausted, he closed his eyes and slipped out.

Sleep felt like death, or at least he imagined it was what death felt like.

He awoke suddenly, staring into piercing white light, brighter than Zim’s lab or the mysterious spaceship of his distant childhood memories. His chest convulsed trying to gasp for air—he realized that a spiraling gust of wind was sweeping around him, fluttering his hair and making it hard to catch his breath.

He held up a weak hand to shield his eyes from the light. As it moved nearer, he realized that its sound was filling his head, its mechanical hum making his skull vibrate, amplifying the ringing in his ears.

It was definitely coming closer. He cowered, flinched… then recognized the shape of the darkness behind it.

It was the little pink spaceship, lowering from the open ceiling right into the center of the living room. Dib squinted and covered his ears while it lowered further, further, and landed right there in front of the television.

Dazzled, blinking, Dib gazed weakly at the ship as it shuddered and hissed with the release of hydraulics. The dome lifted. His vision was blurry, but he could see Zim eagerly climbing out.

The alien looked back at him, smiled—actually smiled—before bounding across the room and capturing Dib’s lips in an unsolicited kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 21 summary:  
Dib gets yelled at by a bus driver and reveals his psychiatric diagnoses. His condition getting worse, he heads back to Zim’s house. For once he’s locked out so he waits/sleeps outside. GIR comes home at some point and lets him in, then it’s just a really long and stressful sickfic scene. Dib acknowledges that he’s willfully refusing to get medical attention. He tries calling his dad and his number gets redirected. Then he calls Gaz and argues with her + they exchange some hurtful dialogue. Ongoing/worsening detailed sickfic content. He gets introspective, worries about having feelings for Zim, tries to eat some food and pukes, and then decides to spend his energy publically posting the sexy pictures of Zim after all. Then he blacks out for a while and wakes up to unsubtly-timed Zim coming home and kissing him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 22 notes:  
So, here we are. Sorry it’s been a while. A lot of things in my life have changed since I started this fic, so I’m sorry that updates have been slower. Are there really 70k+ words of content to be written about ZaDr? **I hope you guys enjoy the embedded art at the end of this chapter. ** It’s not especially graphic but there’s like, exposed Zim tummy, so be aware.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you folks are taking good care of yourselves.

Zim squeezed Dib’s face as he pulled away from the kiss. Ruby eyes stared back and implored him to respond.

“What was that for?” Dib finally managed to breathlessly croak, confused by the unsolicited affection.

“For you, my Love-Pig,” Zim absolutely crooned. His smile was uncomfortably wide. Gloves caressed Dib’s cheeks feverishly. At once Dib noticed the tired sag of antennae and a discoloration around Zim’s eyes that might have suggested a lack of rest.

Sitting up jostled Dib’s aching guts. He grunted and clutched his stomach, shuddering painfully even under Zim’s weird, frantic touching. His eyes watered—the fear of death that he’d dismissed before so easily, came over him at once. He couldn’t believe he’d just laid there all night waiting for the end. Now that it was near, the terror he’d delayed enveloped him and he whimpered, reaching to catch Zim’s hands and pull him close.

A dejected tear rolled down his cheek. When he’d needed them, his family was distant. Now the only one here for him was Zim.

“I knew you’d want it as soon as you saw me again.” Zim cooed as Dib frantically clutched him in his arms. “You’re incorrigible.”

Then, surprisingly, he lifted the hem of his uniform tunic. More surprisingly, the black leggings were missing entirely. Dib gawked and looked questioningly to Zim’s face. Zim simply grinned and reached to touch himself.

Dib’s eyes followed the path of the black glove. The organ was notably swollen and splayed lewdly to expose soft inner folds. More so than during the most painful moments of his suffering, Dib wished now that he’d just gone home the night before. None of this mess would have happened to him if he hadn’t been so eager to hang out with Torque.

Dib groaned aloud to think that he would miss out on something so great. Now that he was lucid, several more tears followed the first.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” Zim reacted to the pathetic display. “You haven’t decided to be disgusted by me again, have you?”

“No, I want you, really…” Dib gasped at the sudden sharp pain from speaking. “But… I’m sick.”

The hem of the uniform was released. Black gloves tightened into fists.

“_Sick_?” Zim’s voice was dangerously soft. “Is that why your human-stink is so pungent right now?”

Dib held himself and tried to catch his breath long enough to form words. It wasn’t easy with Zim so close to him, prodding at his sweaty forehead and searching his face. Zim scowled when he’d assessed Dib’s miserable state.

“I went out drinking with Torque…” Dib began, struggling to admit the truth of his mistakes.

Zim cut him off before he could explain any further.

“_Torque_ did this to you?”

“No! Hold on!” Dib started to raise his voice until it hurt too much. He groaned in frustration at both Zim’s cluelessness and his own inability to communicate. “I had way too much alcohol.”

Zim rocked on his heels like he was struggling to be patient.

“You’re talking about that fermented ethanol juice stuff? That shouldn’t be a problem for the implant, unless you’ve damaged it somehow. Have you?” Zim demanded.

Dib struggled to catch his breath. “It was a _lot_ of liquor, Zim.”

“How so?”

Dib tried to visualize the bar counter where he’d stockpiled shot glasses. A memory surfaced in his mind of chugging whiskey straight from the bottle. He groaned again in frustration at his own stupid impulsiveness.

“I fucked up…” Dib half-sighed, half-wailed. Admitting it unleashed a new level of distress. The onset anxiety drained the last of his energy. He could barely keep his head up while he wheezed and fumbled with the coat he’d been using as a blanket.

“I fucked up…” He repeated softly, finding the implant scanner and offering it to Zim with shaking hands.

Zim studied his face curiously, taking the scanner and pressing it to Dib’s chest without another word. Dib once again watched the rows of green text flicker and turn red. Zim watched it too, nodding and removing the scanner when he’d seen enough.

“How bad is it?” Dib asked anxiously when Zim still hadn’t responded.

“Remind me what the little bean-shaped organs are called?” Zim spoke slowly.

“How do you remember what beans are but not kidneys?” Dib replied. Then he realized what he’d confirmed. “Wait, what’s wrong with my kidneys?”

Zim shuffled and seemed to consider his words. “The implant reacted as if you’ve been poisoned. It tried to divert your entire body’s filtration processes to your kidneys so the toxins wouldn’t hurt your other organs. But it turns out that it pretty much liquefied the insides of your kidneys, so, you know. That’s a thing now.”

Dib could not help his reaction. Without the strength to properly cry about it, tears rolled silently down his cheeks while he laid back and accepted that he’d given himself renal failure by going out with his coworkers.

“I’ll have to make some modifications to the implant when you’re well enough. I’m assuming Vortians process ethanol in a different organ system than humans,” Zim continued to pontificate.

“You think?” Dib sniffled sardonically. He clutched his aching guts—knowing the source of the pain didn’t make it any easier, especially now that he had confirmation of his impending death.

Zim stared at the moisture dripping off of Dib’s chin and finally acknowledged the human’s grief.

“It looks like you’ve been in pain for a while,” he said rigidly.

“It’s been like this since yesterday, maybe longer. I don’t know anymore.” Dib replied weakly. “I can’t believe it. I’m dying. Twenty-four years old and I’m _dying_.”

Zim snorted. “This is hardly that serious. You might’ve died if I hadn’t returned so promptly from my trip, but I’m here now, and I’m amazing.” He lifted his head triumphantly for a moment, then looked back to Dib’s face. “So you can stop being all drippy and stuff.”

Dib nodded and tried to find comfort in Zim’s presence. Certainly he trusted that Zim had a good chance of fixing whatever was wrong with his kidneys. He took Zim’s hand when it was offered—then promptly fell into Zim’s arms when he tried to stand. Zim grunted but caught him. Being held upright by someone four feet tall made Dib feel that much more ridiculous.

To his credit, Zim said nothing to berate him as he helped him crawl into the tunnel system below the house. He didn’t even complain when Dib’s strength ran out and he had to be dragged the rest of the way to the lab.

The alien was oddly silent as he set Dib up in an exam type chair, ruby eyes fixed on his work, avoiding Dib’s gaze. He did not speak again until he’d sanitized Dib’s arm and slipped a mechanical cuff into place at his elbow.

“Don’t be stupid about this any longer. I am going to give you something for your pain. Don’t argue with me.” At last he met Dib’s eyes, dead serious.

“That’s fine.” Dib said, shrinking under the clinical stare.

Zim nodded and attached the arm cuff to a machine he’d wheeled over and arranged at Dib’s side. He activated the equipment and Dib felt something sharp under the cuff. The stabbing sensation trickled up his bicep and then blossomed over his shoulder and face like icy blades dragging across his skin. No more than a minute had passed before Dib’s lips were numb and the pain in his guts was a distant memory.

Blissful relief almost lulled him to sleep. But despite his exhaustion, there was an undeniable excitement of being in Zim’s lab once again, especially since he hadn’t seen him in days. Now that he wasn’t writhing in agony, he was eager to spend time with his ‘boyfriend’ once again.

Zim, of course, was putting the finishing touches on equipment at Dib’s sides. A vial of unidentifiable, possibly saline fluid dripped through a tube connected to the cuff. A big machine with a clear wheel at the front whirred to life. One of the tubes lit up with the bright flow of fresh blood. Dib’s stomach dropped when he realized he was watching his blood being pulled through the alien equipment.

At least the painkillers prevented him from being too alarmed when he realized he was receiving some form of dialysis. Instead he tried to find comfort in the fact that he was being healed. It was amazingly hard to stay focused on such a thought.

While Dib solemnly pondered his place in the universe, Zim left for a few minutes. Dib nodded off until he heard Zim shuffling through the narrow tunnels, grunting like he was struggling. He’d returned with several unmarked, nondescript sci-fi prop crates, which he stacked on the floor on the other side of the lab. Probably assuming that Dib was asleep, he threw open one of the cases and gazed into its contents.

“Yes… yes! Victory for Zim!” he whispered to himself, although he became visibly overwhelmed the longer he looked at whatever was inside the crate.

“Why do you have a dialysis machine?” Dib finally spoke aloud when Zim hadn’t moved for several minutes. Zim slammed the crate closed and whirled around to glare.

“_What_?” he looked less annoyed than accused, like he’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

“Why do you have equipment that does this?” Dib repeated, gesturing to the machine at his side. He was making himself dizzy watching his blood spin and spin. “What do you need something like this for?”

Zim stepped in front of the crates like he was seriously trying to block Dib from seeing them.

“It’s a rudimentary failsafe for a catastrophic situation in which my PAK would be removed and my base would be too damaged to replace it.” He admitted too quickly, like he was compensating for a much deeper guilt.

“So, that PAK thingy is like a little dialysis machine, too?” Dib instinctively made note of Zim having another vulnerable point, then realized that he was being freely offered such information on the assumption of being a trusted romantic partner.

“You ask too many questions, human!” Zim noticed the tension, too. “For your information, that’s also the machine I’ll use to replace the Smackey-human’s blood with MacMeatie’s gravy as punishment for poisoning _my_ Love-Pig!”

“That’s horrible!” Dib gasped.

“Isn’t it? It’s so thick and flavorless, probably one of the worst gravies in the galaxy.” Zim said, oblivious.

“You can’t do that! This isn’t his fault!” Dib insisted. “None of it is! He didn’t force me to drink that much… And for the record, he has no say over the gravy there, we just have to use the stuff that corporate sends us, but he said he makes a really good sausage gravy and he’ll show me how to make a version of it with mushrooms if I come over and—”

“Enough!” Zim shrieked, abandoning the mysterious cases to lunge across the lab and furiously climb onto Dib’s chair. He bared his teeth and jabbed a finger inches away from Dib’s face. “Do not speak of the Torque-beast in my presence ever again!”

Small boots braced on the armrests at Dib’s sides. From where he sat, Dib stared straight at the hem of the skirt-like uniform. He gawked to be see that the little black leggings were still missing.

“Zim…” he breathed, forcing himself to stare at the floor. “Can I ask why you’re not wearing pants…?”

Zim glanced at himself and then scurried off of the chair, clearly trying to remain composed. He shuffled awkwardly for a moment, hands folded behind his back, antennae shyly lowered. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m not worried, just curious. Should I be worried?” Dib prompted. The thing that had bothered him enough to drink himself nearly to death bubbled back into his mind. He tried to ask about it coolly but stammered an accusation instead. “Did you lose them somewhere? Like, maybe when you were _doing stuff_ with that purple guy?”

Zim blinked, then squinted, genuinely confused.

“What?”

“That person I saw you with when GIR called you to snitch on me,” Dib explained.

“_What_?”

“The person—,”

“What?”

Dib gritted his teeth and gathered his thoughts against the teasing. Zim wasn’t getting out of this without explaining himself.

“Was that your little space boyfriend, Zim?”

At last he’d earned a silent squint.

“You were so cuddly with that guy.” Dib continued. “What gives, huh? Did I interrupt your little date?”

Zim grimaced. “Are you talking about that Vortian that thought you were my pet?”

“You _told_ him I was your pet!” Dib rasped. He’d worked himself up so much that he’d pushed the limits of the painkillers. He flinched at a jab in his side, clutching himself with his free hand. He wheezed when he was unable to calm down. “Well, Zim? Is it all a little act just to make me feel like an asshole? Huh? Are you pretending to be some victimized little space virgin so you can have more clout with those social justice weirdos at skool? You’re really a space _slut_, aren’t you? Our relationship doesn’t mean anything to you, I’m just a part of your latest evil scheme!”

Zim didn’t so much as emote while Dib ranted until he ran out of breath. Then, while Dib coughed and sputtered for air, he raised a curious antenna.

“Are you expressing jealousy over my attention?” Zim guessed with a hand on his chin. “Hm. You must be spending too much time with GIR.”

The return of the pain made Dib lose his patience for putting words to his frustration. Instead he wildly threw back his head and screamed until he couldn’t breathe again.

Zim calmly watched as Dib raged himself to exhaustion. Then he stepped forward and slipped another tube over Dib’s head, tucking an oxygen feed under Dib’s nose just as his vision started to get blurry.

Humbled, Dib gasped the life-giving air. Zim didn’t seem smug, but he acted a little too much like a scientist coldly analyzing a shrieking lab monkey.

“You were touching him and he was touching you,” Dib explained when he remembered how to speak. “I’ve literally never seen you do that with anyone in the entire time I’ve known you. So I had this impression that you were kinda close with that guy, in an intimate way.”

“Ew, with a Vortian?” Zim shuddered. “No, unfortunately they’re just _like_ that. They’re a _family_ species. They’re all over you with their antennae the second they see you, they stand too close when they talk to you… ugh, it’s too much.”

“It’s a cultural thing, that’s what you’re saying?” Dib asked, still skeptical although it was interesting to provoke Zim on the subject.

“I guess you could call it a culture.” Zim replied snidely. “Vortians move their heads _like this_ when they talk, and they always smell like that weird food they eat, and they have these ugly bifurcated thoraxes.”

“That just sounds like you’re being _space racist_.” Dib argued. “I’m going to tell those girls you hang out with that you’re _spacist_, Zim!”

Tense silence settled between them for several moments.

“I realize that your species has yet to evolve past competitive breeding instincts, but you can forget about this jealousy obsession.” Zim said finally, fists on his hips like he was scolding GIR. “Do you honestly think I’d go through all that trouble to do the fuck with some hideous alien when I already have the galaxy’s most smelliest, softest, yummiest Love-Pig right here in my base?”

Dib was caught off guard by the last part. He swallowed his argument and looked to Zim’s eyes as if to be sure he’d heard correctly. Zim met his gaze, challenging him to question it.

“There’s no way you really mean that.” Dib sighed. And it was true. Somehow it seemed too uncharacteristic for Zim in a moment like this. Dib studied him. He really did look almost as strung out as Dib had been on the bus the night before. He was just better at holding himself together.

“What _have_ you been doing out there, anyway?” Dib prompted.

“Oh, nothing really… just a routine supply run,” Zim stammered, glancing over his shoulder at the stack of unmarked crates.

“Right. To get _minerals_.” Dib couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Zim squinted and licked his lips. “Speaking of that, I could really go for some minerals. Computer! Give me one of my snack rations! I want it as a liquid smeet supplement!”

“_Weird. Okay_.” The computer droned boredly before a robot arm extended from some wall and handed him a bottle of something that looked exactly like yellow sports beverage.

Zim thoughtfully sipped the drink and closed the gap between them again, tracing gloved fingers down Dib’s face, tugging at the lengthening hair on his chin.

“For such an unideal mate, you’re so… interesting.” Zim all but murmured. The hand continued its journey downward, clutching Dib’s throat for a moment before settling finally at his waist. A wide grin spread across Zim’s face. “Your warm and moist insides are very appealing to me, Love-Pig. I have this desire to penetrate you and fill you with salts and tocopherols.”

“Um… what?” Dib cringed as Zim’s fist tightened around a handful of his t-shirt. There was definitely something unfamiliar going on behind those ruby eyes. Dib could see it clearly now—Zim seemed to be looking at something very far away even when Dib met his gaze.

“You’re too sickly to brood properly without my nourishment.” Zim nodded to himself and took another hearty sip of his nutritional drink.

“Hey… you still haven’t told me what happened to your pants.” Dib said slowly, cautiously.

“Why are you so concerned about that?” Compound eyes flashed in a single moment of annoyed lucidity.

“I was honest about what happened to me, so you need to be honest too, okay?” Dib tried to speak somewhat rationally. “Did something happen to you?”

Zim just kept grinning at him. He sipped the supplement like a fine cognac, admiring something about Dib, or perhaps just an illusion that he saw in him. A few moments later he blinked and shook his head like he’d just remembered where he was.

“Oh, _that_. They’re in the Voot runner, not that it matters.” Dib realized that Zim was still thinking about his pants. “I found it was easier to just remove them. I’ve been preparing myself for you since I entered your solar system. Does this appeal to you?”

“You’ve been—,” Dib swallowed the word when he realized what Zim meant, “—since you entered the solar system? How long is that?”

“I dunno. Six hours?”

“_Six hours_??”

“Is that a remarkable amount of time?” Dib’s reaction finally seemed to catch Zim’s attention. He glanced to the drink in his hand and then to his abdomen, patting himself curiously. Then he stiffened, eyes wide like he’d had a sudden epiphany. He tossed aside the drink and doubled over dramatically. “Nooooo! The hormone treatment must have been faulty! I should’ve known that dirty, thieving Vortian couldn’t be trusted!”

Inconsolable, Zim panicked incoherently for several minutes while Dib pondered the facts. At least Zim’s weird affection was starting to make sense.

“Are you trying to get a space boner again?”

Zim finally pulled himself together long enough to correct him snidely. “Um, _no_? None of my reproductive anatomy has any bone tissue. No, it’s nothing like that. I was offered a free sample of something along with a small purchase I recently made. Vortians are one of those primitive peoples that still reproduce sexually, and they have access to certain technologies and treatments.” He wrung his hands as he spoke. The antennae laid back vulnerably.

“Did you take something weird?” Dib prompted.

Zim nodded almost meekly.

“I think this treatment is coded for a different service class. My PAK is suppressing some of the reactions so it’s manifesting all wrong. I think.” He betrayed himself and glanced back at the shipping containers again. “I don’t know exactly what’s happening, and there’s not enough data available.”

Dib took it all in. He sighed, suddenly a little overwhelmed.

“So. Are you okay?”

“Probably…” Zim said slowly, his hand returning to clutch his stomach. “But there’s something happening. I can feel it growing in there.”

“Like… an egg?” Dib helplessly studied the posture.

Zim scoffed. “_Females_ produce eggs.”

“I realize that.” Dib defended. “So what is it, then?”

“Well… it could be a spermatophore.” Zim squirmed shyly. “I would assume it’s for you.”

“A what?” Dib sat up in the chair. “For me?”

Zim held himself and whimpered. It was an uncomfortably vulnerable moment that went on too long.

“You can tell me. I won’t think less of you.” Dib tried to sound convincing. “What’s going on?”

Zim was silent for some time while he considered something.

“I told you, I don’t know enough yet. There isn’t any accessible information about the subject in my people’s data sharing platforms.”

“Tell me what you do know and maybe we can, like… brainstorm…” Dib lost his words when Zim’s antennae drooped and he turned back to his stack of containers.

“Very well, human, I will tell you the truth. I retrieved more on my trip than just minerals.”

“I… kinda knew that already,” Dib sighed.

Zim opened the case at the top of the stack and produced a handful of little plastic-looking chip type pieces.

“The Control Brains limit access to a certain amount of needless information so that our collective population isn’t distracted by unnecessary confusion. But the Armada has enemies all over the universe. There are terrorists that steal suppressed information and distribute it for a price.” Zim clutched the handful of chips and scowled. “That Vortian got _so_ nosy when I asked if he had any files with information about Irken reproduction. Ugh! I knew I shouldn’t have tried that hormone treatment!”

“You’re saying that your government literally doesn’t let you know about how sex works?” Dib tried to make sense of Zim’s rambling.

“Not at all. The Control Brains just, eh, think about it _for_ us so that we can focus on more important things like conquest and invasion.” Zim held a single chip to the light, studying it rather than meeting Dib’s eyes. “Of course, being that my mission on Earth now involves sexual contact with the local population, I realized I needed to access some of that information. My leaders would understand.”

He at last returned the chips to the crate and gazed at the entire stack. “Now, my problem is that none of this data is labeled. Most of the files are encrypted and some of them have viruses that’ll shut down my entire base if I’m not careful.”

Dib carefully chose his words, analyzing Zim’s reaction to the whole thing.

“I could help you look into unencrypting some of those. I’m pretty good at that kind of stuff. We can even figure out a way to run it through my computer in case something goes wrong.”

“Hm. Perhaps later.” Zim surprisingly didn’t immediately dismiss the idea. But he did continue to nervously prod the place on his abdomen, preoccupied, glancing back and forth between Dib and himself.

Dib tried to hold his attention once again. “What can I do for you right now?”

“You’re not in much of a place to be offering assistance.” Zim’s smugness at last returned to him.

“I guess so.” Dib replied, glancing back to the dialysis machine beside him. Oblivious to the drama, it continue to spin.

“With any luck, my body will just reabsorb the spermatophore.” Zim had not moved his hand from his abdomen. His forced smile faded. “Although… it wasn’t there six hours ago. But that shouldn’t be a problem…”

Dib was certain this was not the end of it. Although he wouldn’t admit it, Zim seemed to know it too. The invader fussed with the dialysis machine once more before heading back toward the tunnels.

“Where are you going?” Dib asked, unsure why he felt lonely just to see Zim leave.

Zim shrugged. Without shame he explained. “I have to retrieve the rest of my uniform.” And then he scurried away.

Dib sat alone in the lab, listening to the whir of the spinning machine beside him along with the hum of the rest of Zim’s equipment. Boredom prompted him to stare at his phone. He had a missed call from a phone number he didn’t recognize. The first three digits didn’t match the known numbers from his father’s lab, nor was it that doctor’s office calling again. Trying not to get paranoid, he opened his messages and tried to type one out for Gaz.

“_I know you probably don’t care but I’m fine now. Zim came back and he’s_” This was as far as he got before he lost his nerve and deleted the text.

His phone forgotten in his lap, he at last laid back in the chair. He couldn’t imagine why an evil invader would have thought to make such a seat so comfortable. Pondering this instead of the growing distance between him and his sister, he let his eyes close. Sleep approached and for the first time in weeks, it felt good.

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 22 summary:  
Zim has returned from his lil trip and he’s suspiciously horny for Dib. Dib struggles to explain what happened; Zim assesses Dib’s health and concludes that alcohol + implant = kidney failure. Zim gets Dib set up in the lab with some painkillers and some dialysis. Zim brings in some mysterious space crates and gets angry about Torque. Dib questions Zim about the guy he saw him with. Zim confesses to purchasing suppressed data from a Vortian; later he reveals that he got a “hormone treatment” from the Vortian that’s made him produce a spermatophore and start a mating cycle. 
> 
> if you like the art here is a link to it on deviantART https://www.deviantart.com/unclehamster/art/zadr-heal-me-827179355 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 23 notes:  
There’s not really a proper summary for this chapter in the end notes like usual. Just kinda not feeling it; if you’ve made it this far in the fic you probably know what you’re getting yourself into.
> 
> But yeah. A chapter of this fic? It’s pretty much just detailed smut and the ending is weak af. But it’s here, just under a month later. Pretty basic chapter, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Thanks for being here.

When Dib woke up again it took a moment to realize he was still in Zim’s lab. The dialysis machine worked steadily beside him. Blinking, Dib sat forward to see Zim sitting on the floor, sifting through one of the cases of data chips, antennae flicking curiously.

Dib watched as he selected a data chip and studied it carefully, then inserted it into a little handheld device. He preemptively flinched like he expected the device to explode in his hand. The device’s screen instead displayed a flashing red Irken symbol and Zim grumbled, ripping out the chip and throwing it into a growing pile at his side. He started to reach for another.

“I thought we were going to do that together.” Dib tried to say coyly, making Zim flinch again. Data chips scattered like an overturned poker table. Zim scrambled to his feet and crossed the room.

“You’re awake!” he said too enthusiastically. As he got closer, Dib could see that his weird, unsettled grin had worsened. He looked, in some ways, flushed. The antennae flicked even as he stood at Dib’s side. His tongue whipped out before he spoke. “Hey! I found some replacement bean-kidneys for you in my cold storage. One of them is kinda big, but I'm sure I can get it in there.”

“That’s… that’s good, I guess.” Dib studied Zim’s face. He definitely seemed off. His mouth fell open and the long tongue rolled out again. Small shoulders tensed and relaxed and then did it again. His hands shook while he held the scanner over Dib’s implant.

“How do you feel?” Dib prompted as Zim braced himself against the exam chair.

“Why are you so concerned about me?” Zim adjusted an imagined wrinkle in his uniform.

“Come on, I’m your boyfriend. Or…” Now that the dust was settling, there were still some concerns to address. “When you were talking to that, uh, Vortian person? Did you really mean it when you called me your _pet_?”

Zim smiled warmly. A small hand reached forward to clasp Dib’s wrist in a genuinely tender way.

“Of course I meant it, Love-Pig.”

It was so unusual; not once since Dib’s childhood had he seen Zim emote so genuinely and happily. Testing Zim’s boundaries, Dib shifted his hand so that their palms touched. Somehow it felt good enough that nothing else mattered. Surprisingly, gloved fingers entwined themselves with Dib’s. It was so touching that Dib was lost for words. The last thing he’d ever expected to do was tenderly hold hands with an evil alien invader.

Zim shuddered. He let go of Dib’s hand and gripped the armrest instead, leaning dramatically with his eyes squinted shut.

“What’s going on?” Dib asked frantically.

Zim gritted his teeth and forced himself upright. He clutched his stomach, fist bunching in the front of his uniform.

“It’s that hormone treatment…” Zim strained to speak. “I removed the dose capsule from my PAK when I realized it was defective, but I think it’s too late. I’m wondering now if I should’ve just left it there… eh, well, it’s gone now.”

“What’s going to happen to you?” Dib couldn’t say why it made him worry to see Zim in such a state. But he’d never seen such vulnerability on him before. Not to mention, his own health was dependent on Zim’s now. If something happened to him, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to disconnect himself from the alien dialysis machine.

“I’ll reabsorb the spermatophore and everything will be fine.” Zim said assuredly. At Dib’s incredulous stare, he snapped. “I’m _fine_!”

“You don’t look fine.” Dib argued.

Zim snarled. “I wouldn’t have this problem if it wasn’t for you! You’re bad! This is your fault!”

“How is that my fault?” the tenderness between them only moments ago was all but forgotten. Even seeing Zim struggle, Dib was in no mood to be accused of things. He gestured to Zim’s gut, then to the dialysis machine. “If _that’s_ my fault, then _this_ is your fault!”

“Is not!” Zim instantly retorted like a little kid.

“Is too!” Dib whined right back. “You should’ve actually done some research before you started sticking alien equipment in me! In fact, you should’ve just left my heart alone to begin with!”

“I wouldn’t have selected you for my research if you hadn’t attacked me with chicken ovum in my own home and then begged me to fertilize you!”

“I didn’t beg you to fertilize—,” Dib was cut off as Zim spasmed again, doubling over while he stifled a whimper. He held his tongue sympathetically watching Zim tremble. “Jeez… I’m sorry.”

“You should be!” Zim glared when he’d regained his composure. “I can’t believe I trusted you to take care of yourself while I was gone. Look what you’ve done in the span of _two_ days! You’ve incapacitated your body and now I can’t even do the fuck on you and relieve myself of this ridiculous spermatophore!” He whined, genuinely offended. “I should attach a diode to your reproductive organ and electrify it until it’s engorged for me.”

“It doesn’t work like that!” Dib flinched just thinking about it, grasping the coveted goods with his free hand as if that would somehow protect him.

“I’ll _make_ it work!” Zim said sharply. Proving his point, he tore off to the other side of the lab and started gathering equipment. Too late Dib realized he was serious.

“Wait! Wait!” Dib wailed, trying to scramble out of the chair when Zim approached him wielding what looked like jumper cables and a sharp-toothed clamp. He helplessly glanced to the arm cuff that held him in place and realized he’d have to talk his way out of this. “Maybe there’s another way!”

Zim stopped in his tracks. The creepy tools lingered at his sides, but he still scowled.

“As I recall, that’s what you told me before you did that weird rutting thing to me.”

“You liked it! You said so!” Dib watched the swinging cable. “I mean, you did like it, didn’t you? Why else would you masturbate for six hours and make a spermater-thingy for me?”

“Spermatophore,” Zim offered helpfully despite his scowl.

Dib sighed. Exasperated, he met Zim’s eyes and shrugged. “I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do for you. I promise you I’d rather be hanging out with you right now instead of doing this.” He gestured formlessly at the dialysis machine. “So, I’m sorry.”

Zim’s scowl finally softened, giving way to a concerned frown.

“I can’t believe I have to admit this,” he said stiffly, avoiding Dib’s gaze. “I don’t know what to do to resolve this.”

“Me neither.” Dib agreed. “I’m sorry I don’t understand. What needs to happen? Do you just need to come really bad or something? Why don’t you just keep masturbating?”

“You think that continued stimulation will achieve this?” Zim pondered aloud.

“I mean, probably,” Dib guessed. He did not have much time to doubt himself. Zim was already bending in front of him, removing his boots and pants again. Then the distance between them was quickly closed. Dib flinched at Zim’s closeness until he’d at last set aside the creepy electrical equipment to climb into Dib’s lap.

“Oh! That’s… that’s nice.” Dib stammered when Zim curled up against his chest, antennae craning to tap at Dib’s face.

“What do you do to stimulate yourself to the point of ejaculation?” Zim demanded even as the antennae traced along Dib’s jaw.

“I don’t know. I mean—,” Dib fought his own trepidation. Zim was genuinely asking for his help. The least he could do was try to break it down for him. “I just, um, keep doing what feels good, I guess. Sometimes it helps to look at pictures.”

“Hm. This explains your fixation with having pictures of me.”

“That’s not the only reason!” Dib blushed in defense of his photography collection. “Most of the pictures I’ve taken were for proof.”

Then he remembered what he’d done with Zim’s pictures during his prior delirium. He’d have to take down his XXXCryptids post as soon as he got out of this. His heart sank as he realized that he couldn’t remember whether he’d logged out of his account or cleared his history. If he couldn’t get to his computer soon, Zim was likely to discover what he’d done.

Zim seemed to notice his hesitation. He sat back to look up into Dib’s eyes.

“I definitely haven’t experienced any feelings of arousal from studying pictures of humans engaged in sexual activity.” Zim pondered aloud. Then he paused for so long that Dib opened his mouth to speak before Zim cut him off again. He answered Dib’s question anyway. “Obviously, there aren’t sexual pictures available of my species.”

Then he went quiet. Gloved hands were still resting motionless between skinny green thighs.He still hadn’t so much as touched himself. Indeed, his antennae fell like the last thing he’d said had made him sad. When he shifted and hugged his knees, Dib tried to find the right way to ask his next question.

“Would this be easier for you if I wasn’t human?”

“Yes. Of course.” Zim agreed slowly. “But if you were Irken we wouldn’t be here, doing this. Even if you knew about recreational mating, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Why do you say that?” Dib asked, anxious.

“I’m an unideal partner.” Zim shrugged. “I have no title, and my highest accomplishments and honors have been stripped from me. In my society, I’m nothing.”

“That doesn’t sound like you...” Dib said, oddly distressed to hear Zim talk about himself in a deprecating way.

Zim shuddered and clutched his head, his eyes snapping shut. His voice was small and muffled.

“This hormonal cycle is activating a lot of latent instincts in my body-shell, and my PAK has no protocol for addressing them. Namely, I have this desire to _impress_ you.” Zim shuddered at himself. “But it’s also making me aware that I have no status with which to impress you. So now I have this urge to, uh… do a little dance or something so you’ll think I’m cool…”

“You are cool! And you do impress me!” Dib tried. Zim scoffed. “It’s true! First of all, you’ve already courted me or whatever, if that’s your problem. I’m your boyfriend. That’s how suitable I think you are.”

“You don’t understand, human!” Zim at last opened his eyes to glare. “I have no _title_! I’m coded as a foodservice drone! Every achievement I’ve ever made in my life has been stripped from my people’s collective memory. And now I’m exiled on this stinky… stink-planet where nobody even knows who I am!”

“Zim. I like you, okay?” Dib insisted. Zim’s glare deepened. Dib glared back even as he tried to make his point. “You’re very sexy. And, um, cute.” He struggled to explain his attraction to Zim without just pointing out that he wanted to fuck aliens.

Zim’s eyes softened like he was overwhelmed by another moment’s anxiety. “I can see that this will have to be a really cool dance… GIR! _GIR_!! Get down here and teach me some sick moves so I can fertilize my human!”

“Listen to me, Zim! Even if you weren’t an alien, I would like you. You’re smart and innovative. _So_ innovative. You’ve always been two steps ahead of me. Nothing I’ve thrown at you has ever slowed you down, just made you smarter and better. Even if you were a human you’d still be superior to the rest of us… okay? You’re an _Invader_, okay?” Dib made sure to say the last part in an extra fancy way.

Zim seemed pacified by Dib’s praise. Then, he spoke again and Dib wondered if he’d even been listening.

“Maybe if I kill myself, the spermatophore will be expelled when my PAK reactivates me.”

“Jeez!” Dib wailed pathetically enough to catch Zim’s attention.

“Does that really bother you? Haven’t you always wished I was dead?” Zim asked sincerely.

“No! I never wanted you _dead_, I wanted you under a microscope, on an exam table, anything!” Dib stammered. “I wanted to have you and look at you and touch you.”

Zim looked genuinely confused. “You spent most of your developmental years trying to violently attack me. Does that mean that human courtship is pain-based after all?”

Dib cringed at his guilt. He wished he could say that he’d hurt Zim so many times in the name of an adolescent crush.

Despite Dib’s silence, Zim’s hands found their way to his shoulders. Dib realized in his medicated haze that Zim had settled further into his lap, straddling him tightly. Skinny hips shifted like there was still a glimmer of hope for Dib’s cock. Alas, the drugs, the pain, and the exhaustion left him with nothing.

“I can’t believe my body did this for a _human_.” Zim shuddered and scrutinized the face he was caressing. “Gross! Your face hair is all fluffy now. Why haven’t you groomed yourself?”

“I’ve been passed out in your living room for two days, Zim.” Dib jerked out of Zim’s grasp when a claw tugged too hard at his chin. Zim continued to grimace at Dib’s stubble. Dib grimaced back. “Are you going to play with yourself or not? Because I could really use some more sleep.”

“Hm!” Zim scoffed and rolled his eyes like he knew Dib was bluffing, but soon enough he shifted again and slipped a hand between slowly parting legs. His touch seemed so gentle and shallow, but his head tipped back and antennae twitched and tapped at Dib’s face almost fervently.

Dib wondered whether he should ask before touching, then figured Zim would let him know if it was a problem. He gingerly brought his free hand to catch one of the antennae and stroke it between two fingers. Zim actually gasped, but he didn’t pull away. It felt like a privilege to touch him there, more so even than to fuck him. The longer Zim let him touch them, the bolder he got, at last bringing the tip of one to his lips. He pressed kiss after kiss to the spot until Zim finally tore out of his grasp.

“I don’t like the way your saliva feels there,” Zim explained sincerely when Dib looked at him like he’d gone too far.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Dib didn’t know when his voice had gotten so small.

“It’s fine.” Zim heaved a sigh and withdrew his hand. “This isn’t going to work anyway.”

“You’re giving up already? You just started!”

Zim glanced up at him briefly, avoiding his gaze the whole time. “What I really want is for you to penetrate me. There’s some sort of thingy in there that makes it feel all fun and—uh, no! I can’t tell you that!” Zim cringed and cut himself off. “Anyway, obviously that isn’t going to happen, no thanks to that Torque-creature poisoning you.”

“He didn’t poison me!”

“Sure.” Zim got up from Dib’s lap and made like he was going to leave. “I’m gonna go kill myself real quick.”

“Stop!” Dib caught Zim’s arm and held on as tight as the narcotics would let him. Zim glared. “Seriously! I don’t like it when you say things like that.”

“If I die in such a way that my body isn’t too badly maimed, my PAK will re-activate me. When that happens, the spermatophore will be expelled as a foreign substance.”

“How do you know that for sure?” Dib tried, sounding like he was pleading. In a way, he was. His weak and desperate mind searched for a plausible solution. “Why don’t you replicate a dildo or something?”

“Eh? You know him?” Zim’s head tilted curiously.

“What? Oh, jeez, is that someone’s name?”

Zim nodded reverently. “Invader Dildo was a brave Irken soldier. He died a noble death during Operation: Impending Doom. Those who knew Dildo do not speak the name lightly.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear about your friend, but uh, it’s something different on this planet.” Dib tried to stay focused while he thought of an explanation. “It’s a thing, um, a sexual aid? …you’ll probably want to make it out of something soft like silicone… You know what, hold on.” Giving up, he searched for his phone and pulled up the most inoffensive picture he could find. He settled for an online listing for a subdued little translucent one.

Zim didn’t wait for permission to look. He snatched up Dib’s phone and clutched it, eagerly scrolling through the rest of the image results.

“Disgusting… but brilliant! Of course a decadent breeding race would’ve invented such a device. Why didn’t I think of this?” A moment later he’d risen from Dib’s lap and was halfway across the lab, studying Dib’s phone and typing parameters into a wall screen.

Zim turned to grin and tossed the phone back. Dib quite comically missed catching it and it clattered and slid across the floor.

Dib’s curiosity outweighed his frustration, and he watched Zim shift his weight from foot to foot, checking his machinery’s progress like a hungry human waiting for his dinner to come out of the microwave. Finally a panel slid open with a hiss. Zim retrieved its contents and scurried back to Dib’s chair, clutching it in his arms like it was quite precious.

Dib grinned as soon as he saw it. “Purple, huh? Interesting choice…”

Zim studied it. “Is the color significant?”

“Not really. It’s just… cute.” Dib held his tongue beyond that. Zim probably wouldn’t have admitted it, but he seemed obviously self-conscious now.

“Eh, you need rest. I’ll go take care of this elsewhere and leave you alone now,” he said a moment later, confirming Dib’s suspicions.

“Nice try! Get over here, spermatophore boy.”

As Zim got closer with it, Dib couldn’t help but note the modest size. Simple and ball-less, it was definitely smaller than Dib’s cock. He stopped himself from saying something crude about it and offered a hand for Zim to climb back into his lap instead. To his surprise, Zim pressed nearer to him, bringing small arms around his shoulders and kissing him again. Now that Dib wasn’t wondering how long he had left to live, he could appreciate Zim initiating it. The alien grinned at him dreamily when they parted.

“Didn’t think you would enjoy kissing me, huh?” Dib tried.

Zim pursed his lips thoughtfully. Then he waved the dildo in Dib’s face.

“Make it slippery for me!” he ordered.

“Uh—,” Dib leaned back in the chair to avoid getting smacked in the face. “How?”

“Seriously? Open up!”

Zim scowled when Dib hesitated. A moment later he reeled back and poked Dib’s cheek with it.

“Okay, I get it!” Dib swatted at it when Zim tried to thrust it at him again. “Let me hold onto it at least!”

Zim grumbled before finally handing it over. Dib couldn’t guess why this felt so embarrassing, but Zim gawked at him too clinically for what he was about to do. For a moment he wished he’d never mentioned it.

Dib studied it in his hand. Now he was grateful for its simplicity—maybe that had been Zim’s intention after all. Shrinking under Zim’s gaze, he parted his lips and licked the tip. It was definitely not any familiar material, but it was soft and, fortunately, less rubbery against his teeth when he tried taking it in his mouth.

It was easier when he realized that Zim was fingering himself again watching him. Encouraged, Dib pressed it deeper. Zim parted his legs further, an amused little grin threatening at the corners of his mouth.

Dib let it pop out of his mouth with a lewd sound. “You like that, spaceboy?”

Zim grabbed the base and shoved it back into his mouth, the other claw abandoning its task to squeeze Dib’s throat. Dib choked and flailed under Zim’s grasp, coughing when Zim finally released him.

“That’s enough, human.” Zim’s grin widened. “You’ve done your best under the circumstances. You are a worthy love-pig.”

“Wow… thanks?” The warmth spreading across his face surprised him. The feeling was tenfold as Zim kissed him again, leaning against his chest.

“Now say it!” Zim hissed when it was over.

Dib searched his scrambled mind for some idea of what Zim wanted to hear.

“You’re… you’re Tall?”

“Yes…” Zim sighed and flopped into Dib’s lap then, turning so that the PAK pressed against Dib’s sternum. One little segmented foot balanced on Dib’s knee. He didn’t waste another second, pressing the wetted tip against his swollen hole.

“Hey, go easy.” Dib couldn’t help but caution.

Zim shuddered and groaned angrily. “It’s _cold_!”

“It’ll get warm. Be patient!”

By then Zim had already taken it all the way to the base. He made no effort to stifle the woody chirping now. It echoed loud and fast in the small lab space.

Dib realized he’d frozen in place for too long, but the whole scene was so much to take in. He gritted his teeth and glanced to the machine still working next to him, solemnly spinning his blood while Zim played with himself. A chill down Dib’s spine grounded him. Feeling slightly numb, he gripped the chair’s armrests like he was about to fly out of it. Zim groaned and writhed, grasping a handful of Dib’s shirt.

“Say it!” Zim wailed raggedly.

“You’re Tall.” Dib stammered obediently. “You’re so Tall, Tall guy…”

He took a shallow breath. Through the painkillers he could feel an anxious tightness in his gut. He shouldn’t have looked back to the dialysis machine. Focusing his attention, he lifted a hand off the armrest and brought it to Zim’s thigh, squeezing stringy tendons under smooth skin.

It wasn’t enough just to watch him and hear him fucking himself without getting involved. Dib dragged his hands down Zim’s sides, making him tremble and groan.

“This is stupid!” Zim huffed after some time.

“Huh?” Dib’s hands had found their way to the back of Zim’s knees, holding his legs apart.

“I can’t do the come-thingy!” Zim growled, frustrated.

“You’ll figure it out.” Dib insisted.

Zim grunted in irritation but pressed himself against Dib’s grasp and fucked himself harder, lewd wet noises almost as loud as his frantic chirping. He gritted his teeth, twitching in Dib’s grasp. Then he stopped for a moment—Dib’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the split at Zim’s crotch part wider, moving independently, spreading to expose the flowery appendages that hadn’t been visible since their first encounter.

The organ pulsed almost grotesquely, appendages pulling at the motionless dildo. Zim wailed and pressed his hips against Dib’s pitifully flaccid cock. Dib could’ve sworn he saw moisture glistening at the corners of the pink eyes.

Some unfathomable time later, he slowed. Trembling, Zim slipped the dildo out of himself and tossed it comically aside. He scrambled around in Dib’s lap, stepping on his thighs and frantically climbing over him. Dib cried out as Zim’s shins dug into his collarbone. Gloves seized handfuls of his hair, jerking his head back so violently it knocked his glasses off.

“Hey!” Dib barely had time to protest before he felt those wet appendages moving against his face. He was suddenly brought back to the memories of their first night together. It was different, of course, without a rigid ovipositor in his throat, but he found himself suffocated nonetheless. Zim rubbed himself against Dib’s open mouth, the organ all but pulling him in with its throbbing.

Zim’s fists tightened in his hair, and then, he was drowning. Clicking and chirping rattled Dib’s jaw while he choked on mouthfuls of foamy, pale pink mucous.

The orgasm seemed outrageously long, but it could have been the fluid filling Dib’s sinuses that made it seem that way. It blocked his oxygen feed and his chest spasmed fighting for breath while Zim rode it out on his face. Dib clutched his throat and gagged on a lungful of it. Dizzy vision searched for ruby eyes gazing down at him—but he realized that Zim had climbed off of him and wasn’t within arms’ reach.

Dib croaked sickly trying to call out to him. Burning tears rolled down his cheeks and his vision grew foggier. Frothy alien come oozed down his neck and chest. Just when he started to panic, Zim returned clutching some sort of absorbent cloth-like material that he trust into Dib’s grasp. Small but strong hands guided him to lean forward and rubbed circles on his back while he coughed and gagged.

Dib sucked precious air when he found it again. Then, amazingly, Zim stepped aside and returned to slip the forgotten glasses into a grasping hand.

Several moments were silent between them. Dib rubbed his burning sinuses, exhausted from all the choking and wheezing. He looked to Zim; the alien was sallow and shaky, but a weird grin had settled across his face. Once more Zim climbed into Dib’s lap, bringing warmth back to the cooling wetness that had soaked the majority of Dib’s clothes.

Antennae tapped at his face. It was quickly becoming a soothing and familiar sensation. Zim held onto him and laid his head on Dib’s shoulder.

“Mine. You’re mine. Mine mine mine.” Zim whispered softly, almost to himself. Dib blushed and clutched him in his arms. It was almost tender, then Zim lurched forward and sank his teeth into Dib’s collarbone. Multiple rows of them were sandpapery and tore at Dib’s skin. Even as he cried out, Zim scurried away again, leaving him alone to whimper and gingerly feel the tender spot. Before he could really assess the damage, Zim had already returned. He clutched a handful of little pink vials like the one he’d used to take a stimulant. Before Dib could ask, Zim started plugging the vials into the machine at Dib’s side.

“What’s that?” Dib asked him anyway.

“Something for your pain.” Zim shrugged absently, studying the readouts on the machine.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. Well, my kidneys don’t, anyway.” Dib traced a fingertip around the crusting wound on his neck.

Zim didn’t respond. Instead he seemed focused on a particular set of data on the readouts. Dib squinted and looked too, trying to figure out some sort of pattern. At one point in his life, he’d studied Zim’s base so much that he’d learned to read a few of the Irken symbols. That seemed like a lifetime ago, and that version of himself a different person.

Dib snapped his head back up when he realized he’d been slowly tipping forward.

“Hey! What did you give me just now?” He stammered against the mounting drowsiness. “I thought we had an agreement about you just dosing me without my permission.”

Zim shrugged, his face too cold for what they’d done not moment ago. “You’ve done so much to abuse my trust, I assumed we’d put that agreement aside.” Then, he pondered for a moment longer. A twisted grin cracked across his face. “I should let you be awake for this. Your screams are so nice to listen to.”

Dib could only groan, his eyelids getting heavy. He fought to keep his head up, watching Zim pull out the rest of his medical equipment and meticulously arrange it in the center of the lab space.

“GIR! Go get those two organs I picked out for my human! Don’t drop them this time!” Zim’s voice rose above the burgeoning ringing in Dib’s ears.

“Zim…” Dib breathed. He forced his eyes open just as Zim approached him and gloved hands eased around his throat. The big pink eyes still seemed uncharacteristically soft as they gazed at him. He leaned in close. Just as Dib started dropping out, he could’ve sworn he could hear Zim whispering more weird stuff at him.

“Stinky human… good human…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 23 summary:  
Smut smut smut. Lot of initial dialogue. Zim’s a self-deprecating sadboy because he’s hormoned out. There is a dildo at one point and descriptive alien come at another point. ...yup


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi... well, it’s been a minute, but hopefully this extra long chapter will make up for it? Thanks for being patient.  
You already know there’s a lot of drugs and uncomfortable scenarios in this fic, but as always, be safe + remember there is a slightly more detailed summary with spoilers in the end notes.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeyZr21Z2OU <- an official song on this fic’s soundtrack u.u’
> 
> Also there is (fairly NSFW, there is visible dick) embedded art at the end of this chapter by my spouse, @BEENZ ! It is vivisection stuff, not related to this chapter but I just wanted to post it with this update because it’s lovely.

Dib suspected that he’d been in and out of surgery enough times recently that his body was getting used to the alien anesthesia. This time when he woke up, there was no gentle reentry into consciousness. Instead his eyes snapped open and he wheezed a panicked breath. When he lurched forward and clutched his throat, he didn’t have to think long to remember the ragged tenderness of being intubated.

Now, the only thing that took some adjustment was his surroundings. The room was somehow familiar yet new to see from this angle. A metallic singing voice grounded him to reality. GIR rounded a corner and Dib realized he was back in Zim’s living room.

His back throbbed, somewhat distant from the residual anesthesia like a painful echo. While he pondered this, GIR crawled onto the couch beside him. It was cute for a moment until it tried to climb into his lap and stepped all over his tender midsection.

Dib’s cries were loud enough to get Zim’s attention. The alien soon manifested and tried to shoo GIR away. In the commotion, one of the little black boots made contact with Dib’s stomach, too. Now that everyone in the house had stepped on him, Dib laid there trembling, too exhausted to really sob the way he wanted to.

“Stop being mopey, human!” Zim knelt at his side clutching the implant scanner. While it was somewhat of a relief to see the text on the screen stay solid green, Dib had nowhere near the energy to match Zim’s.

“Can I have some more painkillers?” He might’ve exaggerated the whimper just a little, but Zim had been so accommodating before.

“Ha! No.” The gentle mood was gone, it seemed. Zim’s affection must’ve dried up with the spermatophore.

“Why? This hurts!” Dib clutched his gut and made a show of being pathetic.

“I happen to know that painkillers are highly addictive for your species.” For a second, Zim seemed oddly mature and responsible. Then a twisted grin split his somber expression. “Do you want some stimulants instead?”

“Whatever.” Dib sighed. Zim took off again. A few minutes later he returned with a big, water-damaged cardboard box in his arms. Dib recognized some basic soldering tools as well as several stacks of the data chips Zim had shown him before.

“Hold onto that.” Zim thrust a pink vial into Dib’s hand and proceeded to drag several cables out from behind the fake television. “Where is your computer?”

“In my backpack…” Dib forced himself to sit up when Zim retrieved said backpack and started tearing through it, tossing aside its contents like confetti. As soon as he saw his laptop in Zim’s hands he remembered the last thing he’d done with it. He hadn’t realized he’d be so anxious about it, but sure enough his hands trembled when Zim passed it to him.

“What?” Zim must’ve noticed his hesitation. “Turn it on. Now!”

Dib tried to stifle his sigh of relief to discover that he’d had the foresight to close all his apps. Still, he had a feeling that Zim would soon know what he’d done, somehow. Zim hovered beside him, squinting at the screen while Dib wondered when he’d ever be alone again and have a chance to take the post down.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Dib prompted, rolling the pink vial in his hands for a distraction.

“Right.” Zim dove back into his box, retrieving the creepy, familiar canister and face mask. Zim ripped the vial out of Dib’s hands and plugged it into the canister. He moved in with the face cover. Dib instinctively leaned away. Zim spoke sternly. “You’ll want it later. We have a lot of work to do.”

“We?” Dib couldn’t think of a better response.

Zim shrugged and set the canister aside. Then he immediately started soldering a cable directly into the laptop’s USB port.

“Hey! My dad gave me that…” Dib trailed off, disappointed but not surprised. He sat back and watched unearthly alloys bind Zim’s tech into his computer like the heart stitched into his chest. Even though he knew it was already unsalvageable, he pulled at the laptop, prompting Zim to slap at his hands.

“Weren’t you just complaining about your overwhelming pain?” Zim poked him in the small of his waist until he flinched. Somehow the way he snickered to himself afterward was almost cute, almost like a harsh version of flirting—either way it was a new feeling. Emboldened, Dib threw an arm around Zim’s shoulder and pulled him into an embrace. He managed to place a kiss on top of Zim’s head before the alien writhed out of his grasp, shuddering.

“Your fur is disgusting-feeling, stink pig!” Zim scolded him, but continued working on Dib’s laptop. The screen had long since flickered into action as some sort of elaborate software program started making changes to the system. Dib could admit to being intrigued watching how it worked, spreading almost organically and methodically. Curiosity also compelled him to pick up the abandoned canister and look it over while Zim worked. Now he had some idea of how it worked. A trigger mechanism seemed to control the flow. He turned it on its lowest setting and hesitantly pressed the cover to his face.

Right on time, Zim thrust the laptop at him. “Here.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dib tried a shallow breath of the lightly sour gas. It didn’t make him feel drowsy or dizzy like every other drug Zim had dosed him with, but he still nervously set it aside.

“Last night you promised me that you would do this!” Zim instantly got defensive. He clutched one of the data chips in his claw, shaking it in Dib’s face. “I’ve gone through a lot of trouble over you lately, you hairy monkey-beast, even more so than when you were constantly trying to attack me! I would’ve thought that mating with you would’ve made you easier to handle.”

Dib wasn’t sure he was ready to be spoken about like something that needed to be handled. Somehow he knew that arguing about it wouldn’t help his case.

“Fine.” He focused on the laptop screen instead of acknowledging it. The system was not yet entirely unrecognizable, but several new layers of Irken text lay over everything. Zim inserted a data chip and the hybrid desktop changed to display the flashing red symbol from before. Dib froze, instantly overwhelmed by the amount of confusing work he could see ahead, although not entirely doubting his ability to fulfill his promise.

“I will reward you for this.” Zim said after some time.

“Really?” Dib perked up at this. Another breath from the canister helped, too.

“There is information somewhere in here that is invaluable to me.” Zim said somberly, eyes shining. He was so serious it was chilling.

Dib at last set aside the canister when he realized he was still breathing off of it. Luckily, he didn’t feel much of a difference yet. Everything else he’d been dosed with had been fast-acting—maybe this one just didn’t work on humans.

“I need some way to translate this.” Dib heard himself announce after a minute or two of messing with the new interface.

“Which one?” Zim had settled beside him to watch him work. He leaned closer to the screen, his elbow resting on Dib’s thigh. Zim’s frame was so comfortably warm beside him. Dib snaked a hand around the small waist. To his surprise, Zim didn’t flinch or react. Dib’s heart raced. It came on suddenly, the warmth rising in him. Soon, he forgot about the twisting pain in his back.

It wasn’t long either until the screen in front of him started to make sense, especially with Zim beside him, eagerly helping with the minutia he didn’t understand, translating Irken symbols, leaning into Dib’s side. It was a bizarre feeling to work with him instead of against him, made stranger yet by the fact that Zim eased further and further into his lap as they kept working.

After some time, antenna tapped at his chin from below him. Zim shuffled and looked up at him.

“You need to take a break and eat some food.” Zim prompted flatly.

“I could keep going.” Dib shrugged, actually starting to enjoy working through the alien firewalls. This was the type of software he’d spent years trying to decode—it was thrilling to be guided right through it.

“I didn’t ask your opinion.” Zim reached up and yanked at his chin hair again. “You’re also gross. You need to groom yourself. You’re repulsive to look at!”

“Thanks.” Dib shoved Zim’s hand out of his face. At this point he could’ve done without Zim being involved, especially when it occurred to him that the laptop might still contain incriminating files. An idea struck his quick-moving mind to get Zim off the scene for a moment. “Let me borrow your razor.”

“What?”

“I’m assuming you have some sort of tool that you shaved my chest with when you cut my heart out?” Dib explained.

“Hm. Sure, why not.” Zim got up to look for the things and it all seemed good for a moment, until he called for his robot. “GIR! Come watch the human!”

“_The_ human?” Dib wondered why one word felt so weird to hear. GIR came along and took Zim’s place at his side. “What do you think I’m going to do? Hack my own computer?”

“I can’t leave you alone with control of Irken technology.” Zim explained impatiently.

“You don’t trust me?” Dib laid it on thick.

Zim cringed, visibly flinched. “How can I make you understand? I shouldn’t be letting you see any of this in the first place.”

Something about the look in his eyes was a little sobering. Dib couldn’t understand why he regretted guilt-tripping an evil alien invader.

Then, he was left alone. GIR had a little piggy toy it seemed occupied with, so Dib tried to do what he had to do. The laptop fan whirred concerningly loud when he tried to open a web browser at the same time as whatever alien software the little machine now had to run.

His XXXCryptids post had gone entirely unnoticed; nobody had even rolled around to accuse the Mothman of faking more photos. It was almost a shame to take it down. His hesitation caught GIR’s attention.

“Whatcha doin?” it asked, clambering for the screen. “Aw, Master’s so cute!”

“Uh, you really shouldn’t look at that…” Dib pathetically tried to cover the screen while closing the tab, trying to spare one last shred of Zim’s dignity.

“I wanna see!” The robot whined, climbing across Dib’s lap. It stepped on the keyboard and the screen flashed wildly.

“Shit!” In the commotion the browser got closed. He tried to reopen it. The overworked laptop at last froze up. Right on time, Zim returned from his errand.

“GIR! Leave the Dib-stink to his work!” Zim scolded from across the room.

“I can handle this.” Dib reached for the tool Zim had brought.

“Yeah, right.” Zim smirked and shoved Dib hard, knocking him back into the couch. Dib hadn’t realized how weak he still was. Zim easily pinned him down by straddling him and sitting on his chest. “Hold still!”

“Will you take off the sideburns?” Dib asked awkwardly. Hands on his face dredged up a memory of being grabbed and touched by Torque’s girlfriend. For some reason it was a relief to cut off the facial hair that person had been fond of.

“Good.” At last Zim softly praised when Dib held still and let him do his thing. The clever tool sucked up the loose hair as it went, humming almost pleasantly compared to the earthly variety of electric shaver. Zim nodded and muttered to himself. “It’s strange to be the one grooming you.”

“Why’s that?” Dib asked.

“You’re, by far, my subordinate. If you were Irken, you would be the one grooming me.” Zim explained.

“Oh… well, thanks. It feels nice.” Dib tried when Zim turned off the tool and traced his fingers along Dib’s jaw.

“Does it?” The alien murmured and set aside the clippers. A glove was eased off. Dib held his breath while claw-like fingers curled around his cheek and combed through the hair at his temple. Half-lidded pink eyes gazed down at him. “You’re soft.”

“Thanks.” Dib flinched for a moment at the onslaught of the antennae tapping at his face while Zim leaned closer. “You can kiss me…” Dib whispered into the space between them.

“We have work to do.” Zim, oddly, whispered back.

“Come on. Just one kiss.” Dib smiled. Zim did not reciprocate.

“I’m indebted to you for helping me.” He spoke grimly. “Is there some sort of _thing_ I can give you as a show of, eh, gratitude?”

“Yeah, a kiss.” Dib wrapped his hands around Zim’s waist. Thighs parted around Dib’s chest hiked up the little skirt-like uniform. Just seeing it was invigorating enough to make him forget his earlier pain. “I also want to fuck you again real soon.”

“Seriously?” Zim flinched. Antennae immediately withdrew. “You came out of surgery seven hours ago.”

“I didn’t mean right now.” Dib dug his fingers into Zim’s hips and tried to flip him over, but his strength quickly gave out.

“Hm.” Zim smirked and climbed off of him, settling back at his side and studying the forgotten laptop. “What did GIR do to this?”

“Uh… I’m not sure.” Dib’s face was suddenly hot when Zim started messing with the computer.

“GIR! You’re bad!” Zim pointed to the robot, who hung its head in shame.

“I’m sorry…” it whimpered sadly.

The warmth of guilt spread further over him while GIR got scolded for Dib’s mistake. Dib kept himself busy resetting the computer and picking up where he’d left off.

The work was hard but it wasn’t awful to have something to focus on. When he was done yelling at GIR, Zim leaned against him again. All that was missing was some good music and it would’ve been an alright time.

Finally, Dib tried a different command line and the flashing red warning symbol went away. A new, different Irken symbol held steady on the screen and Zim instantly perked up.

“Ooh! What did you do?” Zim demanded excitedly.

“Huh? Did it work?” Dib almost regretted that his spree was already over.

Zim scrambled to get closer to the screen. “Show me what you did!”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Dib couldn’t resist jabbing an elbow into Zim’s side. Zim squinted at him and did it back, harder, hard enough to make Dib’s teeth chatter from the sudden sharp pain. “Okay, pay attention…” he wheezed while Zim studied his hands. “What did we decode?”

“Nothing interesting, just a bunch of statistics for a computer program to analyze. But it’s a start.” Zim pulled the data chip out of the computer, marked it with just a normal permanent marker, and then tossed it behind the couch. Then he inserted the next chip, trying the procedure that Dib had shown him.

“Amazing…” Zim spoke softly to himself as he accessed the data. “If only my brain still worked that well, we’d be unstoppable.”

“Yeah… Huh?” Dib wondered if he’d head that last part right, but he didn’t want to ask. Instead he just sat back now—it was his turn to watch.

Zim picked through a few more of the data chips. The vast majority of them seemed to be numerical data, but some bits of interest occasionally slipped in. One data chip contained a video file. An ornately dressed Irken sat at a table like a news anchor and spoke in a monotone, reading from a script.

“Is that what your language sounds like?” Dib asked, interested. A second later, Zim popped the chip out. “Hey! I wanted to hear that.”

“It’s not what I’m looking for.” Zim muttered.

“What _are_ you looking for?” Dib asked. Zim ignored him, fussing with the chips. Dib snatched one out of his hand. Zim leapt on him, reaching for the chip. “Ow! Come on, let me see the video!”

“Why are you so interested? It’s just a bunch of boring clerical information.” Zim gave in when Dib got ahold of one of his wrists and managed to pin him down. Zim writhed but Dib had him on body mass alone. “You had too much of that stimulant!”

Dib studied the video once Zim put it back on. The speaker had a heavy voice and spoke with an interesting lift. There was just enough clicking and whirring to make it pleasantly buggy-sounding.

“You have to tell me what he’s saying,” Dib finally prompted.

“Hm?” Zim apparently hadn’t realized that he’d been lost in thought. “Uh… she’s talking about freight routes. Changes to cargo vessel traffic. Things like that.”

“Neat!” Dib tried not to be frustrated when Zim moved on. This was his project after all. Still he was uneasy as long as those pictures were floating around. He’d have to try to get on the message board later—but when?

He searched for his phone; luckily it had been in his backpack and was still nearby. He tried to act casual but he couldn’t help but notice that he had three missed calls from a number that wasn’t in his contacts, but no message. Something didn’t feel right.

Oblivious, Zim continued to go through the data chips. Dib slid an arm around his waist and pulled him closer to occupy his racing thoughts.

“You’re not getting that!” Zim shoved him away, irritated.

“I wasn’t trying to!” Dib snapped back. “Haven’t you figured out yet that humans just like to cuddle?”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Oh!” Zim immediately clambered off of the couch. “That reminds me! I forgot to feed you!”

“I guess I could eat…” Dib remembered the last bite of food he’d tried to swallow and decided that he didn’t really have an appetite yet. Regardless, it was an excuse to hang out with Zim away from the computer. At this rate it was amazing to see Zim willing to walk away from the project.

“Where are we going?” Dib asked when Zim started to get his shit together and put on his wig.

“I am going out. You need rest so that your implant can heal your body correctly.” Zim smirked. “I will return with food for you.”

“I’m going with you. You don’t know what I eat.” Dib insisted. “What would you even bring me, more Burrito King?”

“No, I will feed you a meat-snack because you need to regenerate protein.” Zim held his head high like he was rather proud to have figured it out.

“Ha!” Dib pointed as he eagerly shot Zim down. “I’m a vegetarian!”

“So?”

“_So_, that means I don’t eat meat.” Dib explained, at last getting the reaction he wanted.

“Lies! I’ve seen you consume flesh!” Zim fumed, shaking his little fists. “Every day in that disgusting skool I had to watch you stuff that hideous institutional meat-paste into your big… stinky… worm-baby mouth!” He cringed just thinking about it.

“Why were you watching me eat?” Dib chided. “Anyway. I’ve been a vegetarian since hi-skool. I did it to piss Gaz off. Do you know that Bloaty’s still doesn’t have a meatless option?”

After some more dawdling, Zim seemed like he was ready to move on. Dib found himself cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes, as after all of their encounters. He took another curious breath off of the stimulants while Zim popped in his contacts. Then he slipped the canister into his backpack—in case his surgical wounds should start to hurt again later, he thought.

The most recent hit definitely elevated him. Strolling to a bus stop with Zim at his side was as blissful as their first date. Then he tried to reach for Zim’s hand and the alien recoiled dramatically. He didn’t make a second attempt.

“Truly? You don’t consume flesh?” Zim asked unprompted after they’d sat at the bus stop for some time. “I thought all humans enjoyed eating lesser animals.”

“It’s not for any moral reason.” Dib insisted after some thought.

“Still.” Zim nodded. “You are… slightly less repulsive for this.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Dib tried to take what he could get. A bus rolled along and they got on. It was already packed. They stood in the aisle together. The coach started moving and Zim’s arm curled around Dib’s waist.

Things were so weird with Zim now, Dib reflected. There was a time not long ago that he’d never fathomed how nice it might feel to have Zim’s face pressed against his chest. How long ago was it? Two weeks? Three?

He didn’t even know what day it was now. As soon as Dib realized it, anxiety swept over him. His hands sweated and trembled where they grasped the vertical bar. He remembered wallowing on Zim’s couch waiting for death to find him. Fearful gratitude prompted him to seize a fistful of Zim’s uniform and squeeze.

“I’m kind of stressed out,” Dib explained softly when Zim glanced up at him.

“What?”

“This bus—,” the bus stopped suddenly and Zim’s grasp around Dib’s waist instinctively tightened. The unexpected twinge made Dib whimper. Realizing further that he was in no shape actually to be riding a city bus, the anxiety grew until it became a full panic.

“I think I need to get off this bus.” Dib insisted as more people started shoving their way into the cab.

Zim shuffled below him. He produced the implant scanner and pressed it against Dib’s chest just as the growing crowd jostled them closer together.

“You need to calm down.” Zim stated some time later, staring at his readout.

“You think?” Dib hissed. The front doors closed. The bus started moving again. Healing incisions on his back throbbed from being squeezed. He shivered and braced for more movement as some of the new passengers insisted on shoving their way to the back.

“Ugh.” Zim also scoffed at the dumb human behavior and lunged for the pull cord, making the people in the seat beside them duck out of his way and murmur angrily. Activity all around them overwhelmed Dib’s senses. For a moment he couldn’t bear to open his eyes.

“Well? Hurry up!” Zim’s piercing voice shook him from it. Zim grabbed his hand and pulled him along, forward against the shuffling crowd.

Dib felt dizzy, although he started to get a little numb the more his abdomen was grabbed and shoved in the struggle. At last they’d made it as far as the front row of inward-facing seats. A bum whose head had been tipped forward perked up as they passed. Dib met his eyes.

Zim pulled him forward. Dib heard a voice in his peripheral.

_"__Mothman is flying tonight…_”

Dib whirled around, tearing himself out of Zim’s grasp. He frantically looked back at the bum, whose head had already tipped forward again.

“Hey! Hey you! What did you just say to me?” Dib couldn’t help his volume. He was certain—absolutely certain—that he’d heard his old forum handle spoken aloud.

“Come on!” Zim scurried after him, snatching him by the arm and twisting it behind his back.

“You heard that, didn’t you?” Dib stammered as Zim dragged him off the bus.

“Heard what?” Zim at least had the patience to reply.

“That—that guy—,” Dib realized he was out of breath they stood awkwardly along the side of the road and Dib tried to gather his thoughts. “I heard someone say a name I used to go by on the internet.”

“So?” Zim shrugged, disinterested. “That bus was gross! I think you’ve had enough stimulants that you can handle a little walking.”

“Zim! This is serious.” Dib tried to make him understand. “Someone might’ve recognized me from an old internet persona I used to have.”

“Why are you so concerned about something weird like that? You must have something to hide.” Zim astutely observed, not at all accusingly.

“Oh…” At once Dib was sobered. His heart sank so hard and fast it hurt. He remembered thinking he’d heard that name being spoken in a certain lecture hall once as well.

“I think I might like to eat soon.” Dib said, hearing his own small voice from a distance. Visceral horror seized him when he realized that he might’ve just hallucinated. Again.

To his credit, Zim wasted no more time leading him away from the bus stop and toward the convenience store at the end of the block.

Wandering through the narrow, tightly-packed aisles was surreal. He half-blindly followed Zim around and waited to ring up for an amount of time that he couldn’t remember. At some point he was plunked onto a bench somewhere and a bag was shoved into his hand. Inside he found some veggie taquitos, a roll of sugar wafers, and a yellow sports beverage—the same combo from their lifetimes-ago date.

“Thanks.” He murmured. An amount of time passed. Beside him Zim huffed and snatched the snacks out of his hand, tearing the packages open and cramming it back into Dib’s hands. Then he hovered close, screaming directly into Dib’s ear.

“Eat!”

“Oh, right.” Dib finally obliged. The drink went down easier than the food, but he gave both an honest try.

Zim scoffed and tutted disapprovingly.

“You’re pathetic.” He said flatly. “You’re terrible and bad and disgusting.”

“I know.” Dib agreed while he struggled through another bite.

“I can’t believe that you could make me feel this way about you.” Zim grumbled.

“Huh?” Dib met Zim’s eyes.

“What?” Zim stared back coldly.

Maybe he was still delusional. At least the food was hitting him alright. He finally made it through the taquito. The candy wasn’t especially refreshing so he shoved it into Zim’s hands. “I don’t want that.”

If Zim was offended he didn’t let it show. Instead he crunched on some of the wafers and continued to stare.

It was then that Dib’s phone started to ring again. He paused around a mouthful of yellow sports beverage and met Zim’s eyes. Then, he dared to look.

The unknown number was calling him again. The slight calm slipped away again. His hands shook.

“What?” Zim prompted, studying the reaction panning out on Dib’s face.

“Oh…” Dib breathed, still not over what had happened on the bus. His mind went in a thousand directions, the most prominent one being that someone from that old message board must’ve figured out his phone number somehow. “That number’s calling me again.”

“What are you going on about?” Zim squinted and snatched the phone out of his hand. He glared at the number and then answered the call. “What do you want, human filth?” He barked.

“Hey! Don’t answer it!” Dib cringed, his heart pounding. He lurched to tear the phone out of Zim’s hand, but Zim leapt out of his way. “Hang up! Hey! Hey! Give it back!” considering the fate of the laptop, he was beginning to feel desperate.

“You! You disgust me!” Zim continued to dash just out of Dib’s reach, screaming into the phone. “Never call this number again, you hideous stink-cow!”

“Zim!” Despite the mania from the alien drugs, he could barely keep up with Zim’s quick little movements. At last he summoned the last of his energy and caught Zim’s hand. The momentum overwhelmed him and he dragged both of them to the ground, where he landed on top of him, hard.

Even though he saw stars when Zim’s shoulder made contact with his stomach, he crawled after the phone where it slid down the sidewalk. Zim came after him, snarling with the thrill of the struggle as he climbed right over him, grabbing for the phone.

“Who is this? What do you want from me?” Dib wailed into the phone while he tried to keep it out of Zim’s reach. “Why do you keep calling me?”

“_What the hell, dude?”_ The voice on the other end of the line stammered. “_What’s going on? Are you okay?”_

Dib felt like the ground dropped out from under him. Hearing Torque Smackey on the other end made him want to weep and scream and thrash, but he was just so tired all he could do was lay there and breathe into the receiver. He must’ve been calling from the restaurant’s landline or some other number that wasn’t in Dib’s phone.

“Oh, man… I completely forgot about work…” Dib panted. Zim gave up and climbed off of him, adjusting his uniform and wig and sulking darkly, glaring. “Jeez, what day is it, even?”

“_It’s Wednesday.”_ Torque said. “_Are you okay? Where are you?”_

“Um…” Dib struggled to put all the pieces together after everything that had happened. The last time he’d seen Torque, he’d been tackled into the ground like he’d just done to Zim. It didn’t take much effort to summon a lie. “Sorry I didn’t call. I’m in the hospital…”

_"Oh, shit.”_ Torque paused. “_Like… the hospital-hospital? Or like, the _hospital_…?”_

Somehow, the question stung. He tried to roll with it. Perhaps it was what he deserved for blatantly lying and missing three unaccounted days of work. Three? He couldn’t remember how many days he’d been dying in Zim’s house. “No, no, just the regular medical hospital. Uh, I had severe alcohol poisoning.”

_“Damn, that sucks. Yeah, you were pretty fucked up the other night.” _Torque spoke sympathetically, but Dib could hear a corporate edge in his voice._ “I’m glad I finally reached you, man. This was like, my last shot to call you. You know, before you got terminated.”_

“Terminated. Wow, okay.” Dib couldn’t help but scoff at the sterile word. “I am actually sorry I didn’t call. I’ve been really sick.” 

_“It’s cool, I get it. So, when do you think you’ll be able to come back in?” _

“Seriously?”

“_Seriously_.”

Beside him, Zim fumed and paced. “What is that Torque-creature harassing you for? Doesn’t he know you almost died?” He grumbled when Dib’s conversation clearly started to turn sour.

Dib tried to ignore him, but he was also eager to end the phone call, and soon. “I don’t know. I’m trying to talk to my doctor right now.”

_“Is that who was on the phone earlier?”_

“Uh, yeah.”

_“Weird. It sounded like Zim.”_

“Well, Zim’s here, too.” Dib cringed. This lie was getting stupidly complicated. “Look, can I call you back in a little while?”

_“Sure.”_ Torque sighed like he knew it was an empty promise. _“So… I can cover for you again tonight but I need a doctor’s note or something as soon as possible.”_

“Okay, I get it! I said I’m sorry!” Dib snapped. “I don’t feel good, okay?”

_“Yeah, okay.”_ Torque didn’t say anything else for a moment. Zim had stopped pacing and taken to staring, arms crossed, foot tapping angrily.

“Is that all?” Dib spat, annoyed.

_“No, you know what?”_ Torque’s voice lifted suddenly. “_Can I ask you something? What’s your problem, dude? Why did you ask my girlfriend if we could have a threeway?”_

“Your—she—,” Dib tried to stop from just screaming into the phone. Sudden accused rage tore through him, making him shake. “What the hell! She asked _me_ that! _She_ asked _me_!”

  
Torque didn’t speak for another moment.

“What did she tell you?” Dib stood up from the sidewalk. Now he was the one pacing. “Did she tell you about all of her weird fucking blogglr shipping crap? Did she tell you that she likes incest porn?”

_“Oh, you got a problem with my girl now? You seriously want to say shit about my girl?”_ Torque shouted something else incoherently for several paces. _“—and you better have a fucking doctor’s note tomorrow, asshat!”_

The phone clicked for a few moments after it had been hung up. Dib could’ve smashed it against the ground. Meanwhile he could also visualize Torque doing the same thing with his body.

Zim, having watched the whole thing, seemed oddly calm now.

“Why do you let that _animal_ disrespect you?” He asked when Dib stood there, arms wrapped around himself, trembling, thoughts racing. “I’m not sure I can stand for this much longer.”

“He’s just being a good manager.” Dib struggled to defend Torque now. He couldn’t believe the nerve! Dib could still feel Torque’s girlfriend squeezing his thigh—it was almost as bad as knowing that Torque didn’t believe him.

“Hm. A leader shouldn’t outrage his men just by giving orders.” Zim observed.

“Fuck off, Zim. Not everything can be summed up with your little soldier analogies.” Dib wasn’t ready to be lectured right after being falsely accused of being a creep. More of a creep than he really was at least—of course the new stress snowballed with the anxiety over his damn forum post.

“I’m glad to see that you’ve gotten over whatever was wrong with you on the bus.” Zim moved on coolly. “Were your snack-gifts sufficient for you, my love?”

“Sure.” Dib huffed, preoccupied with the phone call. “Thanks.”

Zim chewed on sugar wafers; otherwise they stood in silence for some time. It was somewhat of a relief to just be still with his thoughts. Dib realized the patience he’d been granted and tried to get ahold of himself.

“You’ve had enough stimulants that you would do well to walk a little bit.” Zim said after the silence had gone on for a while. “Your implant is working hard burning off all your excess energy. It would help to exercise.”

“That would be nice.” Dib let go of a tight breath he’d been holding. Shiny contacts stared back at him with a strange sincerity. Dib was so laid bare already from the rest of the day that he couldn’t stand the growing ache anymore. “Will you let me hold your hand, at least?”

Zim scowled indignantly, but extended a hand. Dib held on gently, trying to respect the distance. Then, after all the melodrama and hesitation, Zim sighed and leaned in closer, snaking an arm around Dib’s elbow and pressing his head against Dib’s arm.

“This is your date, you know.” Dib teased. “You already gave me snacks. What’s next lover-boy?”

“Hm! A date with Zim is a superior date. That’s all you need to know.” Zim scoffed and lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 24 summary:  
Dib wakes up feeling bad post-surgery. Zim offers Dib uppers and immediately puts him to work trying to decode his ill-gotten data chips. A bit of fluff? Dib gets overly paranoid about having posted Zim’s nudes. More fluff; grooming lore. Dib takes the uppers after all and decrypts Zim’s data chips. Eventually Zim is responsible-ish and decides to get Dib some food, but Dib insists on taking more alien stimulants and going with him. They get on an overcrowded bus and Dib can’t handle the anxiety from the drugs; on the way off Dib thinks he hears a voice. Zim gets him some food and things are cool for a second until Dib gets a call from an unknown number, which turns out to be Torque calling from work. More tension related to this from Zim. Dib has a really aggressive, bad conversation with Torque. But, Zim ends up being kind of affectionate and they continue on together…


End file.
